


Touch

by HypeSiren (VyvyanMayall)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Ableist Language, Almost Canon-Compliant, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Blood, Both Pre and, Brief John Doe/Original Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kind of..., M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, No One Killed Anyone, No seriously an actual alternate ending that diverges during Episode 5, Only mentioned though, Past Relationship(s), Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Please Send Help, Post-Canon, Similarly brief John/Harley but only to the same degree we see them in the game, Slow Burn, Stitches, This got a lot darker and longer than I meant it to, more accurately Grey-Ace, not yet at least, stab wounds, that's not as ominous as it sounds I swear, the non-metaphorical kind, very brief I promise, vigilante joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VyvyanMayall/pseuds/HypeSiren
Summary: A series of chronological but not directly sequential stories chronicling how the bond between Bruce Wayne and John Doe evolved over the course of their relationship.Each chapter is inspired by a different song by the band July Talk off of their second album, "Touch."





	1. Someone Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Season 2, Episode 3.
> 
> Special thanks to Justin (my partner, the fanfiction virgin) and Mac (my friend, the finest fanfiction connoisseur) for beta-ing this fic! Without them I wouldn't have had the courage to post this, nor would the final product be as worth posting.
> 
> Further thanks also go out to you for reading!  
> It's the first fic I've posted in probably twelve years now? Wow, it's been a while. Hope you enjoy the story!

Not myself  
I'm not myself  
I'm someone else  
I'm not myself  
I'm someone else

July Talk – “Lola + Joseph”  
  


Everyone wears masks. Different faces for different people or situations in their lives. The way one might act around their friends is likely a very different side of themselves than they show their parents. Bruce was no different. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Working alongside the Pact for the past few weeks forced Bruce to put on more masks than his usual two. Bruce Wayne, the smooth talking, billionaire, lady killer wasn’t going to cut it with this crowd; and Batman was obviously out of the question. He knew he would have to use a different face to gain admission into the Pact; he just hadn’t realized he’d have to use so many.

Fries was the easiest. It was the closest to his usual Bruce Wayne façade; it had to be, given his wife had followed Bruce’s “exploits” in the tabloids. This version was just a little more pragmatic than usual. Bruce was willing to help Nora because she was an innocent who deserved protection, but he doubted Victor would believe that and also buy that he wanted to be part of a criminal gang. There was no room for softness under Victor’s icy gaze.

~

When Bruce finally got to see Nora Fries for the first time she looked different than he’d imagined. She wasn’t blue, like her husband, nor did she have any other notable qualities. For some reason Bruce had expected her to be strikingly beautiful, but she was actually quite plain. Physically, at least, there was nothing special about her. She was just an average woman, cursed with an unusual fate.

Bruce felt nothing but sympathy for her. Maybe there was something Wayne Enterprises could do to help find a cure once he was done with this ridiculous charade. He wanted to take the Pact down just as much as Waller, but there were better ways. He had all the information he needed to take them down as Batman if Waller would only let him. Then, hopefully, he could get back to both his lives and actually be able to help people again.

He took a step closer to Nora’s containment unit, slowly extending a hand out towards it.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

Bruce jumped back, tweaking his neck as his head whipped around to find the source of those words. John was leaning against the doorway like the sort of guy in a movie who would pull a cheesy line like that.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Bruce retorted, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I asked you first.”

Bruce sighed as the pale man ambled over to him, standing by his side and turning to look at Mrs. Fries.

“Did you come here to chat with Nora?” John inquired, grinning mischievously up at Bruce.

“I don’t think she’s much for conversation,” he replied, restraining a smirk. When John continued expectantly looking up at him in silence Bruce capitulated. “I offered to help house her while Fries looks for a cure, maybe even get one of my tech companies to help him with the research.”

“That’s awful nice of you, buddy,” John said, nodding approvingly, “Nora is pretty great. But I have to wonder, what do you get out of it?”

A sense of satisfaction knowing he’d given an innocent person a better chance at life? That may have been the real answer, but it wasn’t the line he had sold Fries. No matter how much he’d like to he couldn’t deviate now.

“Well–”

“Hold up, we’ve got company,” John interrupted, quickly ducking behind Bruce as Victor Fries strode through the door.

Fries faltered for a moment, glancing between John and his new human shield before speaking.

“What are you two doing in here?” he asked in a tone that Bruce had developed a healthy fear of by now.

The real answer was that he had wanted to see the state Nora was in and his curiosity got the better of him. However, that wasn’t really the best reason to give a man with the power to flash freeze you if you chose your words poorly. Thankfully, Bruce had already thought of an answer for this question before he resolved to set foot in the room.

“I wanted to see what kind of system you’re working with,” he explained, exuding a businesslike calm he had perfected over the years, “The proper arrangements need to be made before we can transfer her to one of my places, and what system you’re using informs which place she will be relocated to.”

Fries’ eyes narrowed as he studied Bruce’s façade, looking for holes, but eventually he gave a nod and seemed to accept this reasoning.

“If you have found out what you wished to know I would suggest you take your leave,” he said, stepping aside and staring them both down until they exited the room.

Once they were a comfortable distance away John’s laughter bubbled to the surface.

“That was hilarious, Bruce,” he hissed, grinning wider than seemed humanly possible. His voice suddenly shifted to a deep, mocking, almost robotic tone as he said, “I was merely here to check under the hood, Vic-tor. Let us ex-change the proper pap-er work at a la-ter date.”

“Yes, yes, very funny,” Bruce grumbled, his eyes trained on John as the man veered suddenly towards his Ha-Hacienda.

John looked surprised once he noticed Bruce had not followed him, and motioned for him to come over before stepping inside.

Might as well.

John was uncharacteristically silent when Bruce joined him in his little shack, but the moment that the door closed behind him the man’s voice sprung forth excitedly.

“So, you actually planning on doing it?”

John did know he had huge holes for windows right? The door being closed wasn’t exactly much of a sound barrier.

“Doing what, exactly?” Bruce asked, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

“Helping Fries,” he explained, gesturing as if this was completely obvious.

“Of course,” Bruce replied, taking a seat opposite John.

“Why, though?”

The question caught him off guard, as John’s words often did.

“Because Nora deserves a chance at life, real life–”

“Life not as a popsicle?”

“Yes, John,” Bruce frowned, “but, you know, maybe in more compassionate terms than that.”

“I’m not trying to be insensitive, Bruce,” John clarified, copying his frown, “Like I said, I think Nora is great. I’m glad you want to help. I’m just surprised is all.”

Wow…

Why did those words hurt so much coming from John? Bruce needed everyone here to see him like that – someone who didn’t care about what happened to some random woman he didn’t know – but for some reason he still didn’t want John to think of him that way.

“I’m not heartless,” Bruce muttered.

“Oh, I know that, buddy!” John reassured him, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder, “I just figured you know how to use people, being a big business guy and all. But I guess that’s all just some sort of hard front you put on for the other guys, huh?”

~

Just a front, eh? God, he wished that were the case.

Bruce knew how to use people, alright. That’s what he’d been doing to John for weeks, wasn’t it?

Using John had been easy – logistically speaking, less so on the moral front – but Bane was a much more difficult man to please. Bruce should have kept his hard front up around Bane as well, but he hadn’t.

When push came to shove he simply couldn’t brutalize Bane’s underling, even if he was a criminal who had already stated his willingness to kill Bruce. It simply wasn’t his way. Bane wasn’t really the biggest fan of that choice, but Bruce had already figured that would be the case.

He didn’t need Bane’s approval. It was majority vote, after all, and he knew he already had that in the bag. Still, he did his best to keep on the hulking man’s good side whenever possible.

~

“Again.”

Ugh, not again.

He hadn’t expected that staying on Bane’s good side would mean taking another round of beatings from the man who already nearly put him out of commission.

This time, however, Bane was going easy. Bruce knew that from experience.

He still ended up lying on the floor, winded, and gasping for breath, mind you, but no more broken ribs. It was a step up.

Bruce hoped to rely on Bane’s overflowing machismo to win his approval. He approached the man about this little sparring match with the intention of hiding his actual fighting capabilities, lest anyone question why he was such a good combatant.

However, when the first round ended with Bruce instantaneously knocked to the ground he knew he would have to apply himself at least a little. His goals would be no better served whether he seemed like a weakling or showed his true potential, so he had to strike a balance.

The problem was that he couldn’t even manage to strike Bane, let alone any kind of balance. He managed to last longer the next round by a few seconds, then the third by several seconds more, but the best he managed was about thirty seconds in the fifth round and even then he spent the entire time dodging Bane’s fists rather than landing any of his own blows.

Bruce forced himself to his feet, doing his best to hide how hard he was panting.

“What, you thought I was ready to quit?” Bruce inquired, his voice filled with a false confidence that he was too tired to make entirely convincing, “I’m good to go as long as you want, big guy.”

Bane laughed; it was a deep, threatening noise that set Bruce’s fight or flight instincts on high alert. It might take him longer to get over the incident at the warehouse than he’d originally hoped. But this was no time to let his fears get the better of him.

“You talk a big game, Wayne, but I know who you really are–” like hell he did “–a spoiled, weak, aristocrat–” he took a swing at Bruce, who dodged it by a hair “–who couldn’t knock me down if he took Quinn’s mallet to my knees.”

Bruce heard the crunch of Oz’s leg beneath his sledgehammer and grimaced. He had hoped to have fully suppressed that particular memory by now. Apparently he didn’t do a good enough job.

A loud crunching sound simultaneously inside his head and out brought Bruce suddenly back into the moment, as he watched the wall sail by and his head hit the ground with a loud thud.

The crunching had apparently come from his jaw when Bane managed to land another hit square against the side of his head. Bruce didn’t feel any pain, but he knew better than to think that was a good thing by this point. Shock was never a good thing.

“Enough,” Bane declared, gazing down at him, “If you go down again you probably won’t get back up again. Which Harley would not like very much. I don’t want to deal with that headache.”

Bruce wanted to deny Bane’s suggestion. He wanted to sweep the much larger man’s legs out from under him and stand defiantly over _his_ prone body and tell him that _he_ had had enough. But he had already tried that the second time Bane had knocked him to the ground during this little sparring match and all Bruce had to show for it was a nasty bruise on his shin.

“What are you two lugheads doing?”

Both men looked over at Harley as she approached them, a mixture of frustration and confusion on her face.

“Are you manhandling our little Brucie Boy?”

Harley strode straight into Bane’s personal space, that aforementioned mallet slung over her shoulder. She never exhibited any fear around Bane. Even if it was just for show, Bruce was a little envious.

“Just a little fun, Harley,” Bane replied smugly, backing away a few paces before turning and heading to his work station, “I was testing his limits. I do not believe he will get a passing grade.”

“Because you were cheating,” Bruce tried to retort, but only succeeded in mumbling incoherently and spitting out blood.

Harley sighed but extended a hand down and helped Bruce to his feet.

“I thought you were better than this, Bruce,” she commented sincerely, shaking her head in disappointment.

~

Harley was…different.

When they first met in the car she had been intense, threatening even, and it only got worse when they got to Wayne Enterprises.

But once they’d brought Bruce to the hideout Harley revealed a softer side; she acted vulnerable, so he had to be vulnerable in return. He still had a wall put up around himself, one labeled “Aspiring Crimelord,” but he lied to her as little as possible. Less out of any desire to be honest with her and more because lying to Harley was a dangerous game that he could not afford to lose.

~

“Alright, spit it out,” Harley ordered as she cleaned his head wound, “and I don’t mean your teeth.”

“What do you mean then?” Bruce inquired, trying to move his mouth as little as possible.

“Why you went and picked a fight with the brick shithouse,” she replied, her eyes flitting between his wound and his expression.

Bruce could tell she was sizing him up, as usual. She wanted to know the answer to her question, but more than that she wanted to know how _he’d_ answer it.

The truth seemed safe enough, this time.

“I wanted to ingratiate myself with Bane,” he admitted, instantly regretting using a word that required as much moth movement as ingratiate,  “I know I’m already a part of our pact, but I didn’t exactly make a good impression with him. Thought I might as well try to remedy that.”

Harley shook her head, but seemed to accept his words as the truth.

“Next time maybe just bring him a beer or somethin’.”

He nodded, his eyes following her hands’ delicate ministrations. It was calming, really, having someone tend to his wounds. It reminded him of that night in Selina’s apartment, the night that they…

Well, he certainly couldn’t let himself get _that_ comfortable.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Brucie?”

Shit. His mind was wandering far too much lately.

He obviously couldn’t give her the honest answer. That would blow his cover and take Selina down with him. At the same time, she would know if he strayed too far from the truth, and Harley wasn’t one to forget that sort of thing.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” he replied tentatively, averting his gaze to better sell his discomfort.

Admittedly, it wasn’t that hard of a sell. He was pretty damn uncomfortable right now.

“No need to be shy,” she coaxed, an amused smirk growing on her face, “I won’t laugh.”

“All right, if you insist,” Bruce sighed, looking her dead in the eyes before stating, “I was just thinking about the last time a beautiful woman took care of me like this.”

Harley’s eyes widened and her jaw went slack.

“It’s been quite a while,” he added, chuckling softly.

Harley narrowed her eyes as she pulled away from Bruce, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Are ya trying to seduce me, Mr. Wayne?” she probed in a tone that was simultaneously playful and accusatory.

“Of course not,” Bruce smiled charmingly – but painfully, “I’m merely repaying a friend’s kindness with a compliment. An honest compliment, mind you. Even if I wanted to seduce you, I think we’re both far too busy right now to be thinking of anything except our plans. Don’t you?”

The tension ebbed away from Harley’s posture, replaced instead with a soft smile.

“You’re not wrong,” she conceded before leaning forward to resume dressing Bruce’s wounds.

~

Many of their conversations ended up like that; it was this dance where Bruce toed the line between fact and fiction, raising Harley’s suspicions only to ease her fears, creasing her brow line then cracking her smile. Despite the walls he put up Bruce’s behaviour around Harley was a stripping down of nearly all his masks, down to an approximation of his true self. He barely did that for Alfred.

Needless to say, he wasn’t a fan.

With John, well, he wasn’t sure how to act. John always caught him off guard, no matter how used to the man’s erratic behaviour he should have become. Rather than strip down his masks, John made Bruce drop them on the ground only to clumsily try to pick them back up again. After a while Bruce stopped trying to pick them back up altogether.

Sure, he had to lie to John every now and then to maintain his cover, but he didn’t have to pretend to be a pragmatic businessman, merciless macho dickhead, or hardened criminal. If he pushed himself he knew he would be able to get away with lying to John pretty regularly, as long as he did so carefully, but he just couldn’t muster up the desire to do so.

More often than not, Bruce was honest with John whether he needed to be or not. He had sincerely advised John to be himself, partly because it was good advice to give anyone and partly because if John tried to manipulate Harley she would see through him in a millisecond.

John wasn’t innocent in the truest sense of the word but he was when it came to his love for Harley. The doe-eyed expression he got around her was unmistakable, and Bruce doubted that John would be able to conceal his intentions from her. Yes, John had agreed to lie to Harley by not telling her about Selina’s plans, but it was more a lie of omission than a blatant falsehood John would have to say to her face.

That was another topic Bruce couldn’t bring himself to lie to John about. Bruce had been as transparent as possible about his past with Selina – or Catwoman as she was exclusively known in this circle.

~

“Catwoman and I are…” Bruce had trailed off for a moment, unsure of what to say.

It was complicated, every relationship he had always was. He cared about Selina, he really did, but no matter how much he enjoyed their dance, as John put it, he didn’t want an encore of the last time she entered his life.

Even so, he trusted her more than most others. Hopefully she would be able to trust him enough to work together to bring down the Pact.

“What we have is a little tangled up,” he concluded.

“Oh, what I would give to be that tangled up with Harley,” John lamented.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he had expected John to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

It saddened Bruce to know that John was willing to settle for the same sort of fucked up relationships that he had to deal with. Being Batman meant he had to sacrifice a lot of things, and the possibility of any healthy long-term romantic relationships was one of them. Selina was the closest he’d ever gotten, really. Someone who knew him, the real him, and stuck around…at least, for a little while.

But John didn’t have the same restrictions Bruce did. John always wore his heart on his sleeve, more often than not only for it to be stomped on; but John’s sincere openness also meant that he could have a deep, genuine bond with someone. Hopefully someone better than Harley.

Bruce liked Harley more than Bane and Fries, but that didn’t mean he thought she deserved anything less than a jail cell adjacent to her cohorts. She had a violent streak that gave Oz a run for his money, and the intelligence and skills to make that anger deadly. Despite displaying her vulnerability to Bruce she could be extremely harsh and cold towards John. She would often dote on him one second then furiously snap at him in the next.

“Ahhhh, if only Harley saw me,” John moaned, “like really saw me.”

Bruce didn’t want that. Every time Bruce saw the two of them together he felt a pang of _something_ in his chest. Harley was bad news, even if she had a nice side. Bruce wanted to protect John from her. That must be the motivation behind that feeling.

“The world’s a crazy place, isn’t it?” John commented, “I want Harley, and you want the laptop…”

That broke Bruce out of his musings, but he kept his cool. He wanted to protect John, but he couldn’t do that if the mission blew up in his face. To protect himself, and by extension John, he’d have to put the man’s fragile heart in harm’s way for the time being.

“Maybe we can come to an arrangement…” Bruce hesitated before offering the thing he knew John truly wanted, even if it was bad for him, “I help you with Harley.”

~

If there was one thing Bruce and Harley agreed on it was that John was a “growing boy” who needed guidance. He’d given John a lot of advice at the café; advice Bruce hoped wouldn’t hurt him. The difference was that Harley’s guidance could _only_ hurt him. John deserved better. Better than Harley and better than the fate he shared with her if he kept following her around like a puppy.

Then again, Harley’s callousness enabled her to easily do something that Bruce was realizing he found difficult: saying no to John. The only time he could really recall refusing John was when he asked for that favor in Arkham. Since John burst back into his life Bruce couldn’t remember a time where he rebuffed any of the man’s requests.

When John showed up at Lucius’ funeral Bruce hadn’t told him to leave or even reprimanded him all that harshly for his bad behaviour. Sure, he had said no to the selfie, but that was the worst possible time for it. Bruce told John he appreciated the get better soon card, and strangely enough meant it despite the fact that it was so inappropriate to the situation; his feelings of guilt over Lucius weren’t going to be getting better anytime soon.

Further still, Bruce had agreed to meet John’s friends, despite not knowing who they were or even having much reason to do so at the time. He needed information on Riddler’s whereabouts and he knew John could help with that, but he also knew that giving John his word likely meant he had to keep it, _or else_.

Probably most dangerous of all, he had let John keep that photo he took of him and Batman on the roof. Bruce could have just taken his phone, destroyed the picture if not the phone itself, and it wouldn’t have hindered his mission at all; what did it matter what John thought of Batman? The mission only depended on the man’s opinion of Bruce.

Even with that in mind Bruce just couldn’t bring himself to hurt John, emotionally or otherwise, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sure, John initially made him uncomfortable; he was inherently unsettling – from his appearance to his demeanor to the words he spewed at record speeds – but the very things that originally made Bruce uncertain around John were also what endeared the man to him so quickly. He knew John was sweet and sensitive, even if that gentler side of him was masked by his mental health problems.

Bruce was familiar with this particular dance by now. Very different than his dance with Selina, it was the same delicate tango he had undertaken with Harvey and, to a lesser extent, Vicki. Despite his best efforts it ended in tragedy more often than not.

Even with all the shit that Bruce had witnessed during his time as Batman he still saw the best in people. Avesta was right; he was drawn to people who others would deem “insane,” criminally or otherwise. John was no exception. Bruce just hoped that John wouldn’t end up like all his other friends: in asylums, jails, or buried under massive chunks of rubble.

He didn’t wish any of that on John. Bruce wanted to help John be a better person. In any other situation he would have dragged John away from the Pact and explained to him that these people were using him and would discard him the moment it became convenient for them.

But you know what they say about glass houses.

Bruce didn’t want to admit that he shared any of the blame for using John. The mission necessitated that he use him, but that didn’t make doing so hurt any less. Bruce knew he could, and would, have helped John if the man weren’t so essential for the success of this undercover venture.

Maybe once this was all over…maybe he could actually help John; get him some support, give him a room in Wayne manor, because god knows Bruce wasn’t going to send him back to Arkham if he could help it.

But right now he couldn’t do that. Bruce Wayne would have gotten John out of there. Batman would have taken him aside and growled some sense into him. But he wasn’t either version of his masks right now. He was someone else entirely.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotations taken from Batman: The Telltale Series, Episode 3. Dialogue obviously belongs to the game's writers, not me, so I wanted to credit them for their fine work at the very least.


	2. Beck and Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events take place from pre-Season 1 to Season 2 Episode 4.
> 
> Mostly an exploration of John's perspective and his conflicting emotions leading up to the ultimate trust fall, as it were.

At your beck and call   
We're not the first to fall   
To feel unknown   
Still we jump at your beck and call   
(He loves me, she loves me not)   
We're not the first to fall   
(She loves me, she loves me not)   
To feel alone   
(He loves me, he loves me not)   
To feel alone   
(She loves me, she loves me not)   
To feel unwanted

July Talk - “Beck + Call”   
  


There wasn’t a lot to do back in Arkham.

John had gone through all of the – admittedly sparse – reading material long before Bruce or Harley made their fleeting forays into his little corner of the world. The only real entertainment – aside from messing with his fellow patients, of course – was the TV.

But, see, that was the problem. Everything John knew about the world outside of Arkham, the world outside the only world he could remember, came from that little box.

There weren’t really a lot of channels to choose from – Arkham didn’t exactly spend the big bucks on a great cable package – so most of the time John ended up watching whatever movie happened to be on. Most of the time it was something he overheard the orderlies call a “rom-com” or, even more derisively, a “chick flick.” They snickered about how ridiculous and cheesy the movies were and made snide comments about John – how he was crazier than they thought if he really believed anyone would be able to love him.

But what did they know?

The obviously selfish, flawed, obsessive people John saw in the movies all found love, why couldn’t he? The orderlies were probably just jealous that he might find it before they did. From the  _ many  _ tedious conversations he eavesdropped in on it didn’t seem like there was much love left in any of their marriages.

When his concentration was uninterrupted, however, John would get fully absorbed into the romantic complications of whatever couple happened to be on the screen at the time. His standards weren’t all that high, really -- he’d watch basically anything that was on – but he had to admit he did develop a fondness for those rom-coms over time. 

It was all just so _nice_ – seeing a love story unfold on screen, one that always had a happy ending, where the people got to hold hands and kiss and be together forever. That was something that John craved desperately. But sometimes he couldn’t help but feel like the orderlies were right – that it was something he was never going to experience.

Maybe it didn’t really help that he was stuck in an asylum, probably forever.

All John could remember was Arkham. One day he woke up there, within those dark and echoing walls, and found himself looking up into the face of Doctor Leland. Her face was the first thing he ever saw – that he could remember, anyway. He was like one of those little baby ducks, imprinting on the first person he saw. John wasn’t in love with her or anything – that would be  _ pretty _ gross given she was kinda like his mom, and all – it was just that she was the first person to show him any kindness. Or show him anything, really, but the point about kindness still stands.

Doctor Leland wore a sympathetic expression, spoke in a soft voice, and asked who he was, but he didn’t know. All he knew was that his joints hurt and there were more voices in this room than people. Later he realized those voices were coming from inside his head rather than out, but Doctor Leland gave him some medication that helped with that. 

His joints still hurt though…

Regardless, the point was John might as well have been born in Arkham for all he knew and he was pretty darn certain he was going to die there too. Soooo…not a lot of opportunities to find the love of his life.

Most of the people in the Asylum weren’t all that sociable, and even the ones who were tended to avoid John. It had something to with his smile or his laugh or both. One of his fellow patients told him as much while backing away towards one of the orderlies – or maybe “shrieked it at him” was a better choice of words. John didn’t really get it. He was just showing that he was happy. What was so wrong with that?

But if people were scared of John when he was happy how were they going to be able to hand his much less pleasant emotions – of which he had many. He had better control of them now – a fact he felt quite proud of, actually – and Doctor Leland had taught him a lot of exercises that helped him deal with them, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have his moments…

There was a long period of time where John just gave up on trying to make friends and instead focused on blending in. It was a bit hard – what with his bright green hair and ghostly white face – but he thought he did well enough. People didn’t bother him anymore, which was definitely a plus. John couldn’t deny that keeping to himself was pretty lonely, but it was preferable to the constant feeling of rejection that had made a permanent home in his chest.

The rom-coms were a good way to stave off that loneliness, though. Instead of holding out for someone to come and sweep him off his feet, or for him to sweep them of theirs, John focused on the love stories he could see on the screen. Doctor Leland suggested that it might not be entirely healthy to fixate on those kinds of relationships, that it might exacerbate his own desire for love – which she assured him over and over was completely healthy – and, as much as John would like to deny it, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Whenever credits began to roll – and then shrunk into that little corner of the screen while some guy’s voice started yelling about what’s “up next” – John couldn’t completely ignore the emptiness it left behind in his chest. He tried, mind you, but blank emptiness is a lot harder to repress than his near-constant merry-go-round of emotions. Sometimes, sitting there watching a way-too-small-to-read list of names scroll by, John wished he could have a love story just like the ones he saw in the movies.

His favourite was probably  _ As Good As It Gets _ , but that was also likely the one that did the most damage to him emotionally. It’s possible that he related to the movie’s protagonist, Melvin, a  _ little bit  _ too much. The guy was unstable and emotional and complicated and definitely mentally ill, just like John. So, if someone like Carol could love Melvin why was it so out of the question that anybody would love him?

John was trying to be a better man, like Melvin was for Carol, but maybe the problem was that John didn’t have anyone to be a better man  _ for _ . Arkham provided him with rather limited options. Even if people hadn’t been afraid of him, John wasn’t sure he was going to find a lot of success in the dating pool.

Not that he was completely opposed to trying, mind you.

After his fifth viewing of his favourite film John had worked up the nerve to talk to a new resident. He was cute, quiet, not too _ crazy _ , and from what he heard the guy hadn’t murdered anybody. It was a low bar to set, sure, but it was one that not a lot of people in Arkham were able to meet.

Meeting that bar was only the first step though, because John wasn’t going to settle for just anyone. If he was going to try to find love – real, true love – he was going to make sure it was with the right person, or at least  _ a  _ right person. Luckily enough, the guy – also named John, which was pretty confusing, so John usually just called him J – was actually pretty great. He laughed at John’s jokes – and not that nervous laugh people did when they wanted John to just go away either – showed him a lot of kindness, and was a pretty great kisser – not that John had anyone to compare him to.

J laughed when he told him as much. They were sitting on the couch – well, J was sitting, John was sprawled out with his head on J’s lap and his legs swinging back and forth over the edge, which wasn’t all that unusual nowadays. It was nearly six, the news was going to come on, and people knew better than to disturb him around news time. He had high hopes that his favourite caped crusader would make an appearance.

“How is that possible?” he asked, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of John’s face, “You’re definitely the most eligible bachelor in here, it’s hard to believe no one has tried to put the moves on you before now.”

“ _ You  _ didn’t even put the moves on me,” John replied, “I talked to you, remember?”

J paused, putting a finger to his lips in faux-contemplation, before saying, “Nope! Definitely not how I remember it at all.”

John squinted up at him suspiciously.

“I’m just so outgoing, you know,” the man continued sarcastically, barely containing a grin, “I’m a real go getter! That’s what my mom always said when her friends asked what her unemployed, adult son who still spent all day in his room and hadn’t moved out yet was doing with his life.”

John giggled, but he wasn’t sure if it was nervous or genuine laughter. J didn’t seem to mind either way – he was playing with John’s hair, running his fingers through those green locks he was so self-conscious of, it felt nice.

For some reason John never really felt all that self-conscious around J though, even about things that he was insecure about, like his hair. Well, at first he had, yeah, he was nervous and wanted to impress him. But he quickly realized that J wasn’t someone who wanted you to impress them or make grand gestures – definitely not the grand gestures one, J  _ hated  _ displays of affection that put him on the spot, which John thought was kinda weird ‘cause all the people in the movies seemed to love them, but anyways – he just wanted you to be kind and understanding. John could do that. Doctor Leland set a good example.

It was at that point that John realized he was starting to fall asleep, lulled into docility by J’s gentle ministrations. He forced his drooping eyes open and noticed that J had that faraway look in his. He was going into that place again, that place that sent tears streaming down his cheeks and apologies falling from his lips over how “stupid” he was being for crying no matter how many times John assured him that it wasn’t stupid, that he wasn’t stupid. John didn’t like that place, not one bit. Maybe he’d be fine if John pulled him out now though.

“They’re all either too crazy or not crazy enough to go out with me,” John blurted out with a nervous – yes, definitely nervous that time – laugh.

J’s hand stopped running through his hair – which was a shame – but his eyes regained focus and were actually looking at him again.

“I guess I’m just crazy enough then, right?” J replied, smiling down at him once more – but John couldn’t help but see something almost like pain in that smile. 

Hopefully he was just reading into things. He didn’t want to hurt J or do anything to jeopardize what they had. Because what he and J had was great! It was nothing like the movies – who would write a story about people like them – but it was amazing anyways.

“Maybe they haven’t approached you because they haven’t seen you like this,” J commented in a voice as warm and soft as his smile.

“What?” John quipped, “With my heads in their laps? Because, yeah, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

“Hmm, that too, but I meant the hair,” he replied fondly, “It looks good pushed back like this.”

There was a heat rising in John’s cheeks. He wasn’t quite used to that feeling yet, but he was becoming more desensitized the longer he and J spent time together. 

Sometimes John wished he could see himself the way J saw him; both literally in this moment, so he could see if his hair actually did look better pushed back, and more figuratively, so he could understand what J saw in him – why J seemed to have so much affection for John when almost no one else did. For all his romantic yearnings, John knew he wasn’t the easiest guy to be around, but J never seemed to feel that way.

Even when John lashed out – against inanimate objects, of course, he’d never hit J – or cackled wildly about some ridiculous – or ridiculously awesome – prank, J acted like John was…normal. Like he was a guy J had met at a bar or a café or a park. Like the two had just hit it off and were spending so much time together because they liked each other so much rather than because they were both sorta trapped here. 

That’s not to say that they didn’t like each other a lot; John was kind of head over heels for the guy, actually. But that just made it all the harder to hear when – around 8 months into their love story – J told John he was going to be released soon.

The news left John completely devastated.

Admittedly, it wasn’t entirely unexpected; J was basically a non-violent offender. His mom had called the cops when he started going off about men in black suits following him and how the government was trying to kill him – J could barely remember the details now that he’d been taking his meds steadily. The GCPD had been a tad overzealous in their attempts to subdue him and J had fought back – thinking they were secret agents coming to get him and his family – so they stuck him in Arkham.

J certainly wasn’t the only case like that. John had seen them come and go multiple times, their stints always brief, so he probably should have known better than to approach J in the first place. It was only destined to break his heart – John knew that from the start even if he tried to ignore it. He just didn’t want to settle, and all the people who stayed for longer than a year were people John would definitely have been settling for.

Even though he knew this – all of this – when he started things with J, John didn’t handle the news of his new partner’s imminent departure all that well.  _ The Notebook  _ taught John that “the best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes you reach for more, that plants a fire in your heart and brings peace to your mind” and, well, the love he felt for J may have planted a fire in his heart but it certainly didn’t bring peace to his mind.

He  _ might  _ have blown up at J and then, after apologizing, tried to switch pills with him until he was sick enough to stay again.  _ Maybe _ . And,  _ perhaps _ , things didn’t go according to John’s not-so-meticulous plan of just switching cups when J was looking the other way. In the end he and J didn’t part on the best of terms. John had to be confined to his room until J was released. He didn’t even get to say goodbye…

During John’s first appointment with Doctor Leland after J’s release she handed him a letter from J saying that he forgave John and hoped he would be happy, but that just made matters worse. John had crumpled up the note and thrown a fit that left a few dents in Doctor Leland’s cabinets and got him thrown back in his room for another few weeks.

Despite its crumpled state, John kept the letter though – he straightened it out after a few days in isolation and read it over and over again until it was burned into his brain.

“I want to apologize,” John told Doctor Leland during their next session, after a few excruciating minutes of silence.

“Well, I accept your apology,” she replied seriously – which was unsurprising seeing as that was her constant state, “They’re just cabinets John, and while it is wrong to destroy people’s property you didn’t hurt any living things and that’s what’s really important–” 

“No, not to you,” he continued hurriedly, “I mean, also to you, I guess, sorry, but I meant to J.”

“He is gone John–”

“I know that!” John’s voice was angrier than he intended and his fists were balled up tightly in his lap, but he took a deep breath and slowly relaxed his muscles until he at least looked calm, “I know, Doctor Leland, it’s just…I was hoping you would tell him.”

“I can’t–”

“Just this once,” he pleaded, “I know what I did was wrong and I need him to know that I know that and that I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry.”

Doctor Leland didn’t respond immediately, which John could only see as a good sign. She was watching him intently, probably looking for any signs of manipulation or deception. He wasn’t doing that, not this time. After a while she sighed, her shoulders falling.

“All right, John,” she replied, but upon seeing the unabashed glee in his face added, “Just this once and I will not add anything to the message other than what you just told me. This will not be an ongoing thing, I will not be your go-between, do you understand that?”

“Yes, of course!”

John accepted Doctor Leland’s terms without reservation. Sure, maybe he would’ve liked to have been able to add how much he loved J and wanted him to be happy too, but if there was one thing he wanted J to know it was that he was sorry.

Maybe John would’ve handled the whole situation better if he thought there was ever a chance he would see J again, but he didn’t think that was possible at the time. Afterwards, though, John started to actually put in the effort and work on himself. He wanted to be better – for J, for himself, it didn’t matter anymore – he just wanted to be good enough to released into the outside world and live a normal life – or as normal as  _ he  _ would be able to lead, anyways. Yes, Arkham was the only home he knew, but he had seen enough rom-coms to have a general understanding of what life not in an asylum would be like.

Then again, John was pretty sure that those sorts of movies weren’t  _ really  _ giving him the full picture of the outside world that he was looking for.

For that he turned to the local news station, trying to get an idea of what life would be like if – no,  _ when  _ – he got out. It wasn’t exactly painting a pretty picture. Rampant crime, but none of the fun kinds; no mayhem or explosions or excitement, just muggings, robberies, murders – you know, the usual fair. John wanted something big to happen, something straight out of one of those cop shows that seemed to go on forever. A conspiracy, deadly toxins, car bombs, just something,  _ anything _ , to break up the monotonous misery that filled Gotham’s news feed!

Then, one night, there it was – there  _ he  _ was.

The Batman.

At first it seemed like nothing but a silly rumour; an intriguing rumour, mind you, but not a very believable one. The shows John watched on the TV sometimes stretched his suspension of disbelief with their preposterous plotlines – even if he liked those plots the best – but he never expected that the News – GCTV 8, Coverage You Can Count On – would be the program to finally break it. But that’s just it; real life didn’t need to be believable, did it?

John found himself glued to the TV screen every night at six on the dot, regardless of whether that meant leaving the dining hall early, missing the beginning of one of his sessions with Doctor Leland, or forcibly taking his turn in front of the box by whatever means necessary – not killing, of course, just some light maiming at most. He just  _ had  _ to see if there were more reports about the Batman.

More often than not his dedication was rewarded, as stories of the caped vigilante’s exploits popped up on the screen more and more as the weeks went on. He would sit there, arms wrapped around his legs and knees curled up underneath his chin, unable to shake his fixation with this fascinating anomaly.

It became such a routine that, eventually, no one bugged him about it anymore. Doctor Leland moved their appointments back by an hour and the couch in front of the TV sat empty every evening.

For those brief months when J was around John had some company on the couch every night. J’s companionship was occasionally enough of a distraction that John missed a news cycle or two – and didn’t even mind doing so, which was super weird to him and he still didn’t fully understand it. But now that J wasn’t around anymore John didn’t let  _ anything  _ stand in the way of his TV time. 

Maybe it wasn’t healthy –  _ maybe  _ Doctor Leland had said as much on more than one occasion – but John didn’t care. Batman was his one beacon of excitement in the otherwise downright  _ boring  _ passage of time that passed for his life nowadays.

The Bat’s appearances also brought out a whole host of interesting tagalongs.

First there was Lady Arkham – it hadn’t taken him long to figure out her little “secret” identity. Her henchman, the Penguin, had an interesting look and an admittedly attractive accent, but that was about all he had going for him. John hadn’t bothered looking into who he really was; when he found out he was Bruce Wayne’s childhood friend the guy got a bit more interesting, but that wasn’t until much later. Finally, there was Mayor Dent, of course, who was just a  _ wild  _ ride from start to finish.

They hadn’t quite arrived at that finish when his beloved hero dropped off the map.

John couldn’t understand it. Why was Batman letting Dent and his cronies get away with everything? John couldn’t say he minded all that much – it was certainly fun to watch – but it just wasn’t like him.

Was Batman okay? Did he die and no one reported on it? What if he died living that other life he lead where no one knew he was the Batman? How would John ever know what happened to him?

It was all just so stressful. So when John heard about the imminent arrival of a new patient – a famous one, no less – he welcomed the distraction. It didn’t hurt that the new guy was Bruce Wayne. He made appearances on the news pretty regularly. More often than not it was during a segment about some boring business stuff or the occasional “who is he banging this week?” sensationalized piece; that is, until the story about his parents blew up.

Oh yes, that was an exciting time around Arkham. A lot of patients felt vindicated knowing they were finally going to get justice for their wrongful detentions. 

But John knew better. 

It was a shock to nearly everyone except him, but no one got released as a result of the Thomas Wayne scandal. That only made tensions all the higher when the man’s son arrived on the scene.

Going into a blind rage and nearly hospitalizing a man who just usurped your position as head of the company your family built was a really great way to make an entrance if you asked John, not that anyone ever did. Given the climate around John’s neck of the woods he knew Bruce would need a little protection once he arrived, and he felt more than up for that challenge.

Well, challenge was maybe a strong word. The two guys who tried to jump Bruce when he first arrived offered little resistance. It was possible that they were too scared of what John would do if they really fought back or maybe they were just not all that strong, but either way they went down easy. He hoped it would be enough to impress Bruce, and it seemed like that wish was fulfilled. The guy didn’t  _ perfectly  _ go along with John’s story about who beat up his assailants – instead opting for the tired “I don’t really know what happened, it was all a blur” defence – but he didn’t rat John out either.

Maybe it was the fact that Bruce was easy on the eyes that made John want to help him out and let him off the hook for not following John’s lead.  He had to admit he had a soft spot for pretty boys like Bruce, especially ones that were so freaking ripped – like, holy crap, John didn’t have x-ray vision but from what he saw of the guy’s biceps he must hit the gym  _ every single day! _

It wasn’t just his muscles, though; Bruce’s face was really nice to look at – despite how haggard he clearly was, he looked somehow even better than he did on the TV or in the tabloid clippings John had taken to collecting. It wasn’t anything weird or sexual – don’t be gross – John just liked looking at the guy. He had this energy about him, something John could feel even though he’d never met the guy in person, that made him think that there was something more to Bruce than the whole billionaire playboy thing. Although, now that John was looking at him up close it was no wonder Bruce was such a successful playboy! Good proportions, expressive eyes, strong jaw…

Huh. There was something about him. What was it?

John had spent countless hours staring at blurry images of the Batman’s face and when he looked at Bruce there was just something so familiar about, well, his whole mouth area. It was little more than a hunch, but it would kinda make sense. The Wayne family had billions to fund whatever they wanted to, so what would happen if their sole heir wished to exact vengeance on the criminals who killed his parents – supposedly – for no reason? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. But John would have to do some double checking to know for sure.

Like a modern day Hansel and Gretel, John littered his interactions with Bruce with clues that the man immediately gobbled up without reservation. If Bruce Wayne was Batman, genius detective, he was hiding the genius part pretty darn well.

First John slipped Bruce that useless key. Well, not  _ useless _ , really, just unusable to Bruce – it unlocked the cabinet in Doctor Leland’s office that held John’s file, but he figured this little test was worth the risk and worse comes to worst he could always get a replacement.

He had a bunch of spare time to observe Bruce after his sojourn to Doctor Leland’s office. Honestly, John would have stuck around to watch Bruce’s behaviour from the shadows the whole time if one of those  _ rude  _ orderlies hadn’t taken the remote. They all knew his schedule by now and it was coming on News time. There would have to be repercussions.

Where were we…right, yes, John watched Bruce try to fit that key into any lock he could find – the cabinet, the chest – all under the watchful eyes of several orderlies. John could only sit back and marvel at how a man who was supposed to be so smart and cunning could be so damn stupid – even if he wasn’t the Batman,  _ Bruce Wayne  _ was supposed to be pretty competent.

Bruce even seemed to consider handing the key over to the authorities, like a cowardly, rule following, privileged businessman. He looked meaningfully over at an orderly for a few seconds, running his fingers nervously along the key, but apparently decided against ratting John out. There was one point in his favour, at least.

He was taking too long though! John bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet, glancing at the time. It was getting on six o’clock, and he couldn’t just  _ miss  _ the News because  _ Bruce Wayne  _ was dawdling! Being detail-oriented was a mark in the Batman column, sure, but John hoped his hero wasn’t so gosh darn slow.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, he assured himself, he couldn’t just pass this up. So he waited…and waited…and—oh, screw it—at 6:03 he gave up waiting and moseyed over to the couch as casually as possible. He flipped to the right channel and caught the tail end of one of Dent’s increasingly frequent “grandiose” speeches.

Ugh, that wasn’t worth messing up his plans for! He’d hoped to see an update on the Batman, something to ease his nerves and assuage his suspicions about Wayne, but no such luck.

“Never anything good on, is there?” He mused to himself.

If Bruce heard him he took no heed, walking off to talk with a sock puppet – and the man attached to it. Oh well, maybe his plan wasn’t such a bust after all. He could watch Bruce from here, even if he had to be a little bit more subtle with his glances.

The guy went around pestering the other inmates with probing questions that John could only half hear over the TV, but he didn’t get very far with them from what he could tell. No surprise there. Bruce didn’t know what made them tick. That was John’s speciality, cultivated over many years in this joint. An afternoon wasn’t enough to get inside these people’s twisted minds. However, such an investigative bent was another point for the Bruce-is-Batman idea, so while Bruce’s questions might have proved fruitless for him at least they served John’s purposes.

Eventually Bruce gave up, trudging over and taking a seat beside John.

Good – well, great actually! Bruce wasn’t repelled by John, maybe he was even drawn to him, and that made his next steps  _ a lot  _ easier.

“Politicians usually bore me to tears,” John commented with a comically gloomy inflection, “But this one? This one has become a lot more interesting lately…”

No response from Bruce, which was a tad disappointing, but he tried to let it go.

As Dent rambled on about “the law” and “getting treatment” for Bruce, John could see the man’s blood begin to boil – perhaps literally, given that Wayne’s veins swelled and grew darker the longer Dent spoke about him.

“That double crossing, two faced–”

“I thought you and the mayor were friends?” John interjected, cutting off Bruce’s low growl, “I mean, you were supporting his campaign. I saw all sorts of photos of the two of you together.”

Bruce’s face fell, the anger immediately sapped from his expression.

“Harvey was my friend,” he replied solemnly, “I can’t believe he’s the one who put me in here.”

Vulnerability. John liked that in a guy – and even more so in a mark.

“Sounds like you need better friends,” he offered, “Slim pickings around here though. I’ve looked.”

That wasn’t a lie – which John didn’t like to do anyways, half-truths and lies of omission were the way to go in his book, outright lies were far too disrespectful – after J left John was lonely enough to once again try and make friends with pretty much everyone in his wing. They were hard to befriend though, and even harder to maintain friendships with.

Bruce was his brightest prospect in a  _ loooong _ time. John wanted to figure him out and run him through a few tests before he made any commitments, but the guy seemed  _ interesting _ – even if he was a bit gullible and unobservant. That, at least, John could chalk up to the drugs clearly – and visibly – still pumping through his system.

John continued studying Bruce throughout the rest of their conversation, lightly poking to see what grinded his gears and pulled at his heartstrings. Honestly, he seemed like a big softy. He cared about the little guy – wanted to protect them. That was a third tick in the Batman column; the fourth followed shortly afterwards, when the report on Vicki Vale’s disappearance popped up on the TV.

Bruce’s eyes were glued to the screen, unaware of John’s watchful gaze out of the corner of his eye. John couldn’t show his hand too obviously, even if the guy was out of it and preoccupied, but if he let Bruce get a glance at just a card or two this could be his best test yet.

“Very tricky, Vicki,” he commented, repositioning himself so that he faced Bruce; chin in hand, leaning forward, one leg leisurely resting on the other – open posture to invite him in. That is, if he took the bait. “I think we both know she’s quite the ‘Lady.’ Right, Bruce?”

“Wait,” Bruce’s eyes tore themselves away from the screen, widening with shock, “You know that Vicki is…” Suddenly his demeanour changed; his eyebrows knit together over now squinting eyes and his voice shifted into a low growl. “Tell me what you know.”

What an eager little fish.

“You want to find Vicki and her drugs, huh?” John replied, unable to suppress a grin, “Get your revenge just like you got your revenge on Cobblepot? Publically and dramatically! Something entertaining for these newscasters to talk about. Ooooh, I’d love to see that.”

“That all depends on you,” Bruce replied, suddenly all business, “If your information is good, we’ll see.”

Interesting.

Bruce no longer displayed any of the vulnerability John saw before, or the fire he had witnessed when the man took down Cobblepot – with one hell of a swing, if he may say so. This was a man who knew how to make deals with the right people to get what he wanted – what he  _ needed _ . Bruce Wayne, businessman, was a deal maker, so that was no surprise. But it was the thing he was bargaining  _ for _ that all but confirmed John’s suspicions.

Even if Bruce Wayne somehow knew who Lady Arkham was, why should he care? There was nothing he could do with that information as a “criminally insane” businessman except maybe hire a hitman, but John didn’t think he was really capable of that. No, it was Batman who would care, Batman who would need to know, and Batman who had to take her down. Ooh, this was so  _ exhilarating! _

John never expected Batman to be so  _ squeamish _ , though, and Bruce couldn’t seem to stop squirming as John related Vicki’s oh-so-tragic backstory – especially when he got to the hand that the elder Wayne had in that whole picture.

“Her parents, murdered!” John recounted dramatically, “Leaving her with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance!”

Bruce couldn’t even meet his gaze anymore. John had to regain his attention, get the man looking at him again; partially because it would be nice to see those mournful deep blues again, but mostly because it was time for another little test.

“Surely you can relate?” he inquired, reclaiming his seat beside Bruce, “Tragedy can drive people to do some  _ pretty  _ dark stuff.”

That worked, of course. Gosh, Bruce was so  _ easy _ .

“Yeah, I can relate to that,” he admitted earnestly, “Tragedy can be a powerful motivation.”

“I knew it, I knew it!” John exclaimed excitedly, unable to stop himself, “Very good instincts on this sort of thing.”

Oh no, he had revealed too much.

Gotta regain that composure, John! You’ve been doing a good job so far, you’ve been relatively calm – for you, at least – and you even seem like you’re in charge around here. Keep your cool. You can do this.

“You and Vicki are both dark souls and now you’re heading on a collision course towards each other…that’s going to be FANTASTIC!”

John bolted up, gesturing excitedly.

So much for keeping his cool.

But he just couldn’t help himself! He knew, he just  _ knew _ , that Bruce  _ had  _ to be the Batman. Still a few more tests though, a poke here, a prod there, he’d get everything sorted out in no time.

He bridged the gap between them and kneeled down beside Bruce’s chair before letting the bat out of the bag.

“See, I know what you really are…”

It was Bruce’s turn to lose his composure. The man’s dark eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening to an almost cartoonish degree.

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

But John still didn’t want to show his hand, not unambiguously anyways.

Better to leave Bruce questioning what he knew – safer really – he’d still be able to reel the squirmy little fish in without exposing himself completely. And he so desperately wanted to reel in the Batman, of all people, to have him at his mercy—no, not mercy! Just, um, in his debt, he supposed. He adored Batman – honestly he kinda wanted to  _ be  _ Batman – but having a guy like that owe you something…well, that was just too good to pass up.

“And that’s why I  _ really  _ want to tell you where Vicki’s moved her drugs,” John continued, standing up and slowly circling behind Bruce, “BUT! You’re not gonna do anything while you’re stuck in here…”

He kneeled down on the other side of the chair.

“So, I vote we get you out. How hard can it be?”

Bruce looked at him sceptically. That cold businesslike demeanour had apparently returned while John was somewhere behind him. No matter, John could still get through to him. He was an easy nut to crack – no pun intended.

“You’re Bruce Wayne,” John declared factually, “the Wayne’s always get what they want. All it would take is a phone call.”

“Well, sure, but there’s no phone I can use–”

Bruce’s resistance made John sigh.

“Assume I can take care of that,” he shifted his butt onto the coffee table and dragged it towards Bruce, completely unconcerned by its screeches of protest.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at the other inmates who had gone on high alert due to the table’s skidding. Always ready for a fight, those guys. But they’d lose interest quickly, especially when they saw it was just old Johnny boy fooling around. He was harmless! Unsettling, yes, but innocuous enough to ignore. Just like he wanted to be.

John waited until he had regained Bruce’s attention to stipulate, “But it’s going to come at a price.”

What was that price though?

John’s mind raced through a million things he could want from Batman – a ride in the Batmobile, Batarang throwing lessons, a look into the hero’s hideout he must have – but he couldn’t narrow any of them down. He just wanted everything! But that was too much to ask for from anybody, let alone Batman – come on, he had to show the guy a bit of respect – so he decided to  _ not  _ make a firm decision right now.

“When I get out of here you’re going to owe me a favour, okay?”

Bruce broke eye contact, suddenly deep in thought.

Shit, shit, John was losing him. No, John, don’t freak out. It’s okay. He’s just considering, you’ve still got him, you’re good, don’t freak out, JUST DON’T FREAK OUT–

“Just one,” he added before frankly admitting, “I don’t know what it is yet. But what’s one favour between friends?”

John placed a hand on his chest, smiling genuinely and, for once, in a way that he was pretty sure didn’t come off as unsettling.

When Bruce replied he was more closed off than ever, firmly stating, “I’m not doing any favours for you, John.”

Oh…maybe he was wrong about his smile then. Why were people always so off-put by his happiness?

“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” John murmured, a familiar pain in his chest.

This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been rejected, and with his luck it wasn’t going to be the last.

Whatever, the favour didn’t really matter, did it? The real reason he was doing this was because he wanted to help the Batman. Even if Bruce didn’t trust him – worse than that, didn’t afford John the same kindness he had so generously given Bruce – John was going to help his hero take down that Vale lady. John learned a long time ago that it took people a lot longer to warm up to him than it did for him to warm up to them. He’d just have to keep proving himself – that was all. He’d earn that favour someday.

“We can keep working on our friendship when we meet again, can’t we?”

Bruce looked at him like he said the most ludicrous thing in the world – it wasn’t  _ that  _ crazy. He set that little dismissal aside – again – and proposed his plan, or at least the cliff notes version. Bruce didn’t say anything, so John decided to just go ahead with it. He would obviously follow through, right?

Wrong, no, nope, noperoony, how many times could Bruce reject him in  _ FIVE GOSH DARN MINUTES?!  _ Was he going for a record or something? Because John was pretty sure he was setting one! He went to  _ all the trouble  _ of letting Zsasz loose – the best and easiest distraction in this place, to be sure – and what did  _ Bruce Wayne  _ do? It certainly wasn’t take advantage of the distraction and make a phone call  _ like they’d discussed _ . Noooo, he fricking stepped in front of the guard and took on Zsasz. Like an ungrateful, no good, goody-two-shoes, honour bound, justice-seeking…crimefighter.

Oh.

Well…

As Bruce got his lights knocked out by the marked up murderer – he was honestly pretty lucky Zsasz hadn’t gone at him knife first – John figured he had to forgive the guy. He wouldn’t really be the Batman if he let someone die just so he could make a phone call, now would he? That was a thing John would do, not Batman. He guessed that was why John was where he was and Bruce was, well, usually not where he was, you know, right now…

John decided it was better to give Bruce the low down on Vicki – even if he never came through for him – considering he was pretty sure the guy was Batman.

Even without John’s help, Bruce got sprung pretty quick after the incident. John was just thankful he had a moment as Bruce was leaving to call out, “Ask the Vales.” Then, deciding that was maybe  _ just a little  _ too cryptic, added, “Ask her parents.”

After Bruce left, John talked his way out of a few days in solitary and successfully maintained his TV privileges – at least for the news hour. Every day, for that hour, John waited breathlessly for news of Batman taking down Lady Arkham – news that would confirm his suspicions and make his suspension from daytime television worthwhile – but no word came.

While John may have never received word of Batman’s exploits, he got something even better – front row seats.

John had been right, he saw Bruce again before he got out of Arkham – when Batman,  _ the  _ Batman, chased Vicki Vale through the asylum and caused a riot. Gosh, that was  _ so  _ fun! How he missed those carefree days.

The Batman certainly didn’t do a great job trying to mask his reaction to John. There was a pause when he saw John, long enough for John to tell him what a big fan he was and get a better look at his mouth region up close and personal. Well, he definitely wasn’t wrong – it looked a lot like Bruce’s.

But even if John was wrong about Bruce’s secret identity as the bat – or was that possessive the other way around? – getting to see his hero fight off criminals up close and personal was a thrill John would never forget.

Thrills and memories only go so far though. Sure, Batman was John’s hero, but he wasn’t the one who saved him, swept him off his feet, and whisked him away from his incarceration.

That had been Harley.

She was going through a hard time when she showed up at Arkham – John could tell even though she didn’t talk about it until long after they left – but she went out of her way to help him anyways.

Harley saw something in him. She thought he could be something greater than himself. She said as much, but even if she hadn’t John had seen it in her eyes. Doctor Leland had looked at him with a similar gaze over the years, but she hadn’t really put her money where her mouth was – or eyes, as the case may be. She was amenable, though, and when Harley suggested that John might be rehabilitated enough to be released she offered very little pushback.

John had seen a hesitance in her eyes as he waved goodbye through the rear window of the taxicab, but he figured she was just being overly precautious – and probably a little sad that her best boy wasn’t going to be around anymore.

He found it a little strange that he hadn’t needed to tell the taxi driver where to bring him – especially since he was pretty sure the guy hadn’t spoken to Doctor Leland either – but when the car stopped he saw the reason standing outside, grinning down at him through the window.

“Hiya, John,” Harley greeted him sweetly as he stepped out of the cab, “You ready to start our new lives togetha?”

Wow! Harley looked…different.

She definitely wasn’t wearing that clownish makeup the last time he saw her or, uh,  _ this  _ outfit.

She looked so weird…he loved it!

“Harley!” John exclaimed, laughing and wrapping his arms around her, “When you said I was ready for something greater I didn’t think you meant anything like this!”

“Well, I wasn’t tryin’ to be mysterious or anythin’,” she replied, gently patting his back once – John took the hint and promptly ended the hug, “I’ve got big plans, Johnny boy, and I think you could be a real asset to the team me and a couple of acquaintances are makin’. You in?”

John’s eyes lit up and a giddy peel of laughter escaped from his lips.

“Do you even need to ask?!”

“Not really,” Harley smirked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leading him towards what seemed to be an abandoned carnival, “but I thought I’d give ya the option anyway.”

Oh, that had been such a fun time! He and Harley spent the next week together – just the two of them – making plans and decorating the carnival’s “funhouse.” John could see why the place had shut down if this was their idea of fun! He and Harley made it so much better. John was sure people would have come from far and wide to see their new and improved version!

But that was never gonna happen. It would mean having to share this place with someone else and he could never do that. It was special, just for him and Harley. It held so many amazing memories, like the time he almost split his head open trying to go through a door that lead to nowhere at the top of those topsy-turvy crooked stairs – he found the incident so hilarious that he painted his laughter all over them.

“Ain’t this place lookin’ good, Mr. J?” Harley asked, looking up at John’s handiwork.

John’s smile faltered, unpleasant memories assaulting his mind despite his best attempts to shut them out. He wasn’t ready to think about J, not yet, not when he just got out, and especially not with his new feelings for Harley.

“What, not a good nickname?” she inquired, her voice filled with an unusual level of sincerity. 

“No, I just…don’t worry about it.”

“Aww, you’re cute, you know that?” Harley’s characteristic smirk graced him with its presence once more, “Thinkin’ you can hide your discomfort from me. It’s sweet, but a little dumb. I was your docta’, John, you can’t really pull the wool ova’ my eyes. Though it’s not like it’d take a psychiatrist to know you weren’t exactly fond of that particular moniker.”

John didn’t reply, couldn’t even look her in the eyes. She was too perceptive, like John, and he didn’t want her to see the reasons behind his discomfort. Not her, not now. They were having such a good time. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to ruin it.

“Fine.”

John’s eyes shot up to Harley’s face. She had a resigned expression, but she was still smiling.

“If you don’t want to tell me I can’t make you,” she sighed, placing a hand on her hip, “I mean, I  _ could _ , but I’m not gonna. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal or anythin’. Just a little something to call you, something personal, not like, well,  _ John _ . That name is just so…normal. And there’s nothin’ normal about you, puddin’.”

“Pudding?” John cocked his eyebrow in confusion.

“On account of how sweet you are,” Harley replied, her voice syrupy as she patted his cheek affectionately, “and maybe how childish and dumb you can be too. Does that one work betta’ for you?”

If anyone else had insulted him the way she just did John would’ve been enraged, but for some reason when it was Harley he just couldn’t get enough. Something to talk about Doctor Leland about, probably—wait, no, he wasn’t going to see Doctor Leland again. He was really going to have to get used to that.

“Sound perfect, Harley,” John chirped happily, “I’ll have to think of a nickname for you too!”

“No, you won’t,” she stated mirthlessly, “Harley  _ is _ a nickname.”

“Right! How could I forget?”

John laughed nervously as Harley sauntered away. Oh, if he could spend forever here with her he would. Just the two of them in their funhouse, enjoying each other’s company, building on their relationship, laughing together – well, maybe he did a lot more laughing than she did, but she was definitely laughing some of the time.

They were going to have to leave the Funhouse soon, though – John knew that. Harley had a purpose in life, one she was sharing with him, and he was happy just to be along for the ride. Even if he didn’t know  _ what  _ Harley was looking for exactly John knew that it had to be worthwhile! John had never done anything worthwhile, never had any purpose. The drive he felt now, working towards Harley’s goals, was invigorating in a way he’d never experienced before.

This new life she fashioned for him was pure ecstasy, and John just couldn’t get enough.

 

But where had any of this really gotten him?

Sure, Bruce and Harley had shown him what life was like outside of Arkham and given him a purpose, but what had either of them done for him lately, huh?

In fact, those two so-called friends and their actions were what led him to the spot he now found himself in: alone, trudging through dark streets, just to make one of them happy – again – with nothing to show for all his efforts except a black eye and a broken heart.

Bruce never did come through for him, did he? Repeated rebuffs in Arkham, horrible dating advice, never really being there for John. What good was he, anyway?

Ah, but just one smile from Bruce – even if they were pretty few and far between – could set John back on his heels. So charming, handsome, smart, and he cared – John knew he cared – even if he wasn’t always there for John.

But Bruce was there sometimes, wasn’t he?

Even if his advice hadn’t worked out it had come from a good place – what other reason could he have to advise John to be himself? Any other advice would have led him astray, wouldn’t it? If Bruce told him to be himself that must mean Bruce liked who he was, right?

Gosh, he hoped so, because he really liked who Bruce was – not just as Batman, also, you know, his personality and soul and all that.

But it was undeniable. Bruce had been using him from the beginning. Ever since he told the distractingly handsome man about this ridiculous  _ pact _ .

It wasn’t like he didn’t have an inkling that might be the case before, but he knew it with one hundred percent certainty when Bruce interrogated him –  _ nicely  _ – about Harley’s whereabouts rather than ask John how  _ he  _ was doing. John had a  _ black eye  _ and Bruce didn’t say a word! What kind of friend –  _ real _ friend – does that?  Did he mean anything to Bruce, to  _ Batman _ ? It didn’t seem like it. If he did, Bruce would’ve asked who had hurt him at the very least.

On the other hand, who was the one who gave him that shiner? The one who literally left him to die when their heist went south? Harley always had an angle. But that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him, why should it? The serum was important to her, she needed it. More than she needed him, apparently–

No, no, if there was one thing John knew it was that Bruce and Harley both cared about him…or at least he was pretty sure they did. Nothing made sense anymore! They were both so dedicated to their damn mission that there wasn’t much room left for him, was there? There was  _ no way  _ either of them could love him as much as he loved them.

But that’s what love was all about, right? Love was patient, selfless, supportive – when had either of them been any of those things? No, that just meant he had to embody all of those qualities if he was going to show them how much he cared. Even if they weren’t good to him he had to be good to them. They’d see that he was worth something, he’d prove himself to them, then everything would work out.

Right?

John didn’t like to dwell in the past like this. He didn’t like to think about how his best friend had lied to him, how the woman he loved had abandoned him, or how many years – and people – he had lost, wasted in an asylum he thought would be his whole world  _ forever _ .

It just hurt too much

But right now he had to. He couldn’t just follow Bruce and Harley’s whims anymore.

John had to make a decision for himself, for once.

He just hoped it would be the right one.

…Or at least the fun one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As those of you who have experienced Season 1 likely noticed, I quoted extensively from Season 1 Episode 4, so all the dialogue between John and Bruce in this chapter should, once again, be attributed to the writers of Telltale's Batman, not me. Now that this section is out of the way we will be basically quotation free from now on; aside from one very minor quotation in each of the next two chapters, it's all me! So, that's exciting, for me at least.
> 
> Should have a new chapter out every Friday, so I'll see you next week!


	3. We All Know We're Going Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Season 2 between Episodes 4 and 5.
> 
> It was actually the first chapter I wrote, because I have no ability to write things in any sensible semblance of order.

Hey look, Johnny is here  
He's in the corner with his hands on his ears   
His little death wish was the talk of the city   
He knew about it before everyone here   
  
He was ahead of his time   
He had a beautiful mind   
Johnny's underground with the rest of them talking   
Doing his time   
  
So cheer up   
What's wrong now?   
Cheer up   
(We all know)   
We all know we're going down   
So cheer up   
Cheer up   
Cheer up

July Talk – Johnny + Mary  


 

“Ah, Master Bruce, glad to see you are finally willing to grace us with your presence.”

The tone Alfred greeted Bruce with as he stepped out of the Batmobile was anything but welcoming, but Bruce could hardly blame him. He’d spent the past nearly forty-eight hours in a vain attempt to fix the mess he’d gotten them all into on the bridge, although one could argue it was more accurately spent doubling down on his mistakes than really fixing any of them.

“Glad to be home, Al,” Bruce replied as he removed his cowl, “Any updates?”

“No, nothing since we last spoke.”

Bruce sighed. He supposed no updates meant nothing worse had happened, so that was good, but he had hoped that maybe Al could succeed where he had failed.

“All right, well I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” he murmured, striding past Al and tossing his cowl onto the table.

Bruce hadn’t been home in approximately sixty hours, with at least twenty-four of those hours spent inside the Batsuit, so now that he finally had a safe place to relax he was suddenly very aware of all of the wear, tear, and unpleasant filth he’d accumulated over the past few days; he’d never stress tested the suit for a full day of use, but now that he had he knew it was a _very_ bad idea. He was hot, sweaty, and overall just extremely gross. Too gross to keep the suit on for a second longer. He peeled it off, piece by piece, as quickly as he possible could, only remembering that it wasn’t just him and Alfred in the cave anymore once he was down to just his boxers.

“Oh, hi Tiffany,” he addressed his new tech wizard self-consciously, “I have a new idea for the suit: better ventilation.”

“Riiight,” she responded awkwardly, one eyebrow cocked as she turned back to her tablet, “I’ll get right on that.”

Right. Great. A _really_ nice topper to this shit sundae of a day.

“I need to take a shower,” Bruce stated, making a beeline for the elevator.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Al questioned, following a few paces behind him.

“I know they still must be watching the house, that’s why I took the back way in,” he replied in his most charming tone of voice, “Don’t worry, Al, I’ll be careful.”

He hated doing that. Pretending everything was okay around Alfred when it wasn’t. Al knew, he knew Al knew, and Al knew that he knew that Al knew. So what was the fucking point?

But at this point putting on a comforting tone and acting like he was fine was second nature. And, honestly, he could not deal with a lecture from Alfred right now. Not after everything.

“If you insist,” the butler muttered, stopping a few feet away from the lift.

“You know, we wouldn’t have to worry about this if we installed a shower here in the cave,” Bruce quipped, unable to stop himself from deflecting yet again, “That’s another thing that we should get on right away.”

Alfred didn’t reply as the elevator took him out of sight.

 

When Bruce stepped out onto the manor’s main floor it took him a moment to recognize his lounge. Everything was in disarray, obviously torn apart by the Agency during their search for him. It was to be expected, but that didn’t really take the sting out of it. The lights being on was a surprise though; the agency must not care very much about the environment, he supposed.

Bruce crept quietly through what he assumed, based on location if not appearance, was his entranceway and up to the second floor. He reached the bathroom that adjoined his bedroom without incident, noting that his destination was one of the few rooms without any illumination. Honestly, that suited him just fine. He knew how to get around his own bathroom with his eyes closed, and two long nights of city lights had been more than enough for his pounding head.

He threw his boxers into the hamper and stepped into the shower, turning the handle until the heat started to burn…and maybe a bit further than that. He told himself that the heat would help relax his muscles, but Bruce knew the water didn’t need to be this hot for that; it was just one small way that he was trying to punish himself for everything that happened on the bridge.

 

Bruce was only given a single moment to grapple with the shock – and to resist the urge to vomit into the water below – before he heard his name being shouted furiously. Probably Waller, definitely Agency, but he had been too out of it to figure out the specifics. Regardless, it definitely meant danger, which automatically slipped him into his Batman mask, at least internally. But on that bridge, in that moment, he wasn’t Batman. He was just Bruce. No Batsuit, no Batmobile, no Batarangs, no bat anything. Just a white, bloodstained dress shirt and some gravel-torn slacks. So, what could he do except run?

He didn’t jump off the ledge like his unpredictable friend; instead he bolted towards the nearest end of the bridge, took the first turn he saw, and twisted through every dark alley he came across. It felt like his throat was bleeding and he was having a harder and harder time catching his breath but he refused submit to his body’s desire to stop. He’d ran harder and longer than this and he was sure he’d do so again in the future; now was not the time to start listening to his body’s pleas for him to treat it better.

At some point he became aware of a voice in his head – or, more accurately, in his ear.

“—you all right? Bruce, answer me!”

“Al,” Bruce rasped through ragged breath, “Sorry–I–just–give me a second.”

He turned down another barely lit alley, flattened himself against a wall, and stopped to listen. He didn’t hear any stampede of feet, shouting, or gunshots, which was a good sign. Bruce wasn’t sure how long he’d been running or where he’d run to, but it seemed like he was safe for the moment.

“Al, I’m sorry,” he reiterated, slowly sliding down until he was crouched against the rough brick wall, “I didn’t hear you, I just started running and…I don’t even know where I am right now. Although, on the plus side, that probably means the Agency doesn’t know either.”

“You’re not too far from the docks,” Al replied; his steady voice had a calming effect that began to exorcise the panic that had set into his bones, “Are you all right, Bruce? I heard everything over your earpiece, of course, however I only saw the tail end of the events. I was away from the computer, but they caught that part on the news. There was a great deal of smoke, so the cameras didn’t catch sight of you, but everyone saw that lunatic set off those explosions–” Bruce grimaced “–What were you thinking, Bruce? What could have _possibly_ motivated you to help that man?”

What was he thinking? He trusted John, _had_ trusted John. He knew he shouldn’t have; he knew John was lying to him, at least in part, about what happened to the agents who came after him and Harley. It may have been self-defense but the evidence didn’t all line up with John’s account of the event. Further still, he had heard John talking to himself – stating that he was going to tell Bruce that it was self-defense, screaming about this being his and Harley’s special place, growling out the growing paranoia he had towards Bruce’s potential betrayal.

Despite all of that Bruce chose to trust John, to place all of his faith in the slightly unhinged man, because he truly _wanted_ him to pull through. There was a nagging voice in his head telling that John was lying, that he shouldn’t be doing this, that the man had just _murdered_ a room full of people.

Bruce didn’t listen to that voice.

Instead he listened to the voice that said John was a good person, John was his friend, John needed him. And, in some small way, that second voice had been right. Against Bruce’s better judgment and beyond all of his expectations, John had pulled through, resisted Harley, and safely retrieved the virus.

Honestly, he was as surprised as anyone.

On top of that, John genuinely impressed him by telling Waller that the virus was too dangerous for anyone to have. Bruce had to admit, he was more than a little proud.

John was doing the right thing, he had saved the day, he was standing up for what was just and right, and oh fuck he had a gun in his face.

Bruce probably should have been less surprised when Waller pulled that gun on John. But, honestly, he thought she was smarter than that. She wanted the virus, obviously, but John would have simply dropped the vial and infected everyone if she managed to put that bullet in his brain.

Her actions had irrevocably altered the trajectory of John’s life. As the pale man stood there taking the safety of others into account Bruce had fully seen for the first time that potential Harley had talked about. John was impressionable, malleable even; Bruce could have taken him under his wing, so to speak, and John would have been able to see the value in saving people.

But that one moment, that one short-sighted decision, had radicalized him to a point that Bruce wasn’t sure he would be able to pull John back from. If she just hadn’t tried to shoot him…but “what ifs” didn’t matter. She did what she did, and so had he. Now they’d all have to deal with the fallout.

The issue there was that the fallout Bruce faced was probably a little more life threatening.

Waller was going to kill him – literally. And probably everyone he’d ever loved as well. So, that was a fun little consequence of his foolhardy dedication to trusting John.

“Al!” he exclaimed, suddenly jumping to his feet as his heart plummeted to his stomach, “You have to get out of there! She’s going to be coming after you next, and Tiffany too! It’s not safe–”

“Bruce,” Alfred interjected calmly, “We are fine. Tiffany and I are already in the cave. There is no need to worry about us.”

Bruce buried his face in his hands. The last few…how long had it been? It had to have been days, or weeks at most, but it felt more like months. However long it was, it had proven that the Bruce Wayne mask was a lot more versatile than he had thought, but exploring that versatility had also left him extremely vulnerable.

The list of people who knew Bruce’s double identity, or at the very least wanted his head on a stick, was growing longer than the list of people who didn’t. And that list certainly contained a few people who would, and already had, used that knowledge against him. If he couldn’t keep the people he cared about safe then how could he truly call himself a hero?

Bruce had wanted to save John – from himself or the pact, he wasn’t sure which – and look what that had gotten him. Everyone else in his life was not on a hit list; a list that would be carried out by one of the most dangerous branches of the government. Bruce was well connected, sure, but nothing like Waller.

Bruce’s list of allies was growing thin. Alfred and Tiffany, of course; Selina, wherever she had gone off to this time; probably Gordon, hopefully he would forgive Batman for tipping off Catwoman; Bruce had been able to count on Agent Avesta so far but now that he let John stab her boss in the gut he wasn’t so sure that she would have his back, not that he could blame her; and then, against all odds, there was John. His new partner in crimefighting, if the man had his way.

That is, if he was still alive.

No, Bruce couldn’t let himself think that way. John wouldn’t have jumped off a bridge to his death right after proclaiming that he was going to clean up the streets alongside Batman. He had to have a plan.

John was deceptively intelligent, as he made especially clear when Bruce accidentally called him stupid. He hadn’t meant it like that. He just meant John shouldn’t act rashly, that he should be careful. Surprisingly, the man had listened, to a point. Then the gun happened. Then the stabbing and the explosions.

Bruce almost couldn’t blame John for reacting the way he did.

Almost.

“Can you get back here on foot, Bruce?” Alfred inquired over the earpiece, “I can pull the car around if you need it.”

“I do need the car, but I’m not coming home just yet.”

“What?” Alfred sounded scandalized, “Don’t tell me you’re going after that madman, Bruce. He made his own decisions. You tried your best, but you cannot save everyone.”

“I know that, Al,” he sighed, “But I’ve come this far with him. I’ve already put all of my eggs in that basket, giving up now would make all of the shit we’re going to have to deal with completely pointless.”

“Yes, I suppose you have put all of our eggs in that basket case.”

Bruce decided to let that one go.

“Please just call the car around,” he requested, “I’ll suit up and start looking immediately. Hopefully I can find him tonight and then we’ll head to the cave to plot out our next steps straight away.”

Of course, things hadn’t gone at all as Bruce planned.

He’d spent the next two hours searching in vain for that distinctive head of green hair. One would think that John would be pretty difficult to miss.

The first night Bruce only had time to check Arkham and the Pact’s headquarters. Much of that night had been spent getting Nora and all of her equipment to a safe place – well, as safe as Bruce could provide her with at the moment, anyways.

The Agency hadn’t hit the headquarters yet, but Bruce knew once they did that they’d take an interest in her if for no other reason than to have leverage with Fries. So, he’d packed Nora and all of her equipment into one of the many vans the Pact kept lying around and drove it to Wayne Tower’s underground parking. He knew he’d never be able to fit her cryogenic chamber, let alone all of its assorted accoutrement, into the cramped elevator shaft down to Lucius’ lab – although Bruce couldn’t deny that, on that night of all nights, he was thankful to not have to set foot in a place that now served little purpose except to remind him of his failure to protect the people he cared about – so he had to settle for the part of the underground parking lot that no one ever ventured into, save the occasional security guard. Even that was pretty rare. But, just in case, Bruce slipped his parking pass onto the dashboard, and simply had to hope that it didn’t raise too much suspicion.

The following day, after he was sure the Agency was either nowhere in sight or had already come and gone, he hit John and Harley’s funhouse, the Stacked Deck, and even Riddler’s hideout.

Once Waller caught wind of her agents’ deaths she would no doubt post a permanent detail at the funhouse, so this was Bruce’s only chance to check the place; he was primarily checking for John, of course, but it was also the only time he would have to piece together what really happened that night. Bruce considered taking his time, making sure to take pictures of the crime scene so he could deduce what had really happened, but he decided against it. He told himself it was because the Agency could show up at any moment and he needed to focus on finding John, and that was partly true; but deep down, under all of his denial, he knew the real reason.

The next night Batman investigated the seedier sides of Gotham, intimidating any criminal he got his hands on and perhaps getting a bit rougher than he’d generally like to in his attempts to get answers. There were a lot of people talking about John; the criminal underworld was abuzz, mostly in delight, with word of his exploits. Thanks to his explosive entrance into the spotlight, he was now a source of inspiration for a great many criminals.

Wonderful.

Other than that unpleasant bit of news, Bruce’s efforts turned up nothing.

It was getting harder and harder to deny the possibility that John might be…

Eventually Bruce had given up and given in to Alfred’s pleas that he return home. He took the back roads and slipped into the Batcave undetected, as far as he could tell. Once he got in he had that oh-so-pleasant conversation with Alfred, snuck into the manor, hopped in the shower, and here he was – unable to get the events of the past few days off his mind.

 

Bruce turned off the shower. He felt clean now, physically at least.

Stepping out into the unlit and unpleasantly cold bathroom, he reached for the towel that usually rested on the nearby hanger but found it empty. It struck him as a little odd; however, Bruce doubted any of Waller’s agents were overcome by a sudden urge to take a quick shower while they were executing their thorough sweep of his home so it wasn’t all that worrying either. It must’ve been in the laundry when everything went to shit. Thankfully, he found another one in the cupboard under the sink and used that to towel off. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror but he could tell his hair was all over the place. There was a reason he used product.

As he peered ineffectively at his reflection in the darkness, he heard a noise coming from his adjoining bedroom.

Shit.

Maybe Waller had kept someone in the house in case he snuck in. Who was he kidding, of course she had! She had a contingency plan for everything.

He thrust his hand into the cupboard and grabbed another towel so he could at least have an improvised weapon to defend himself with, cursing the fact that he hadn’t hidden more actual weapons around the house. A Batarang or two in every cabinet – _that_ would be his new plan going forward. He tried to ignore the many obvious problems inherent in that idea as he wrapped the dry towel around his waist for some sense of modesty.

Bruce padded softly to the door to his bedroom and placed his ear against it. There were voices, or maybe it was just one voice talking very quickly. Twisting the damp towel into something that could at least disarm whoever was lurking in his bedroom, he slowly turned the door handle and dipped inside.

Which was perhaps a tactical error, as he winced against the sudden influx of bright light; rather than making a surprise attack against his potential assailants, all Bruce could do was tense his muscles against possible incoming attacks he couldn’t see. However, as his eyes adjusted he saw no one. He could still hear that voice, he hadn’t imagined that, but there was no black suited agent pointing a gun at his head.

Better yet, now that there was no door between them he was pretty sure that he recognized the voice. Taking a few more steps, Bruce peered around his bed and, sure enough, there he was. Days of searching be damned.

John was curled up in the corner by the head of Bruce’s bed with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, muttering unintelligibly to himself. At least that explained why he hadn’t heard Bruce in the shower even though he was right next-door. He looked paler than usual, if that was even possible, and he had changed his clothes since the bridge; now he was quite clearly wearing clothing he found in Bruce’s closet. They hung loose on John’s lanky figure, making him look even smaller than usual.

Bruce bridged the gap between them and knelt down in front of his friend.

“John,” he uttered, his voice nearly as soft as the hand he placed on the man’s shoulder.

It did not seem as though John had heard him, given that he didn’t respond until Bruce touched him – a touch that caused him to recoil sharply and smack his head against Bruce’s bedside table. His pale face contorted in pain for only a moment before the sight of Bruce’s face softened his expression; his eyes shot wide open and his arms lowered slowly before suddenly going slack at his sides.

“Where were you?” John asked, his voice raspy and broken, “I was starting to think you must be dead.”

Those words were somehow a harder punch to Bruce’s gut than any blow Bane had dealt him. It should have been obvious by now that John had been struggling with exactly the same fears Bruce had over the past few days. John wasn’t so crazy to call them two threads in the same stitch.

“I’ve been waiting for a _really_ long time, Bruce,” John continued in his uniquely endearing whine.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce replied, “I was out looking for you. I hadn’t really considered that you would come here, of all places.”

“Where else would I go?”

That…was a fair point. The thing was Bruce figured John would have known better than to hide out in his manor when the Agency would be coming after both of them. However, he couldn’t deny that John didn’t really have anywhere else to go – nowhere that had a comfortable place to sleep, anyways.

“You’ve never even been to my home before, so I didn’t really think…but you’re right, I had no idea where you were. Which was honestly pretty terrifying, John. You weren’t answering your phone–”

“It won’t turn on,” the man mumbled, his pale face gaining a bit of colour as he averted his gaze, “I _maybe_ didn’t fully think through plunging into raging water with my phone in my pocket.”

Bruce couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, his shoulders relaxing from a tension he hadn’t fully realized they were holding.

“You could have told Alfred, you know,” he commented, an unexpected fondness seeping into his voice, “he would have told me where you were.”

“He doesn’t know who I am, Bruce,” John whined again, “I didn’t think he’d react well to me showing up unannounced at his house. It wasn’t very polite of me.”

Bruce smiled softly.

“Come on, let’s go remedy that,” he offered, extending his hand towards his friend.

John grinned and accepted the assist, stumbling a few steps towards Bruce as he helped John to his feet. His gaze seemed suddenly fixed somewhat lower than Bruce’s face.

He was surprised when John commented, “This, uh, it’s a good look for you, Bruce. But maybe you want to put something on that’s a little less towel-like.”

Bruce’s cheeks suddenly felt quite warm but he plastered on his signature Wayne charm all the same.

“You’re right. I should be a bit more presentable when I present you to the family, shouldn’t I?”

He caught just a glimpse of confusion on John’s face – the squinting eyes, a cocked eyebrow, that lopsided frown – before turning and heading towards his closet.

There was a lot less variety in said closet than Bruce would like to think he had. White dress shirts, black slacks, black suit jackets, mostly black ties; was he always dressed like he was headed to a business meeting?

He glanced back at John. Clearly his friend had no better luck finding anything else in this closet. Nevertheless, Bruce didn’t really want to talk down there dressed exactly the same. It felt like it might give off a strange vibe especially given the way that his pants sat askew on John’s frame, slowly sliding off his hips even with the belt buckled as tightly as it could go.

Bruce turned away and ducked inside the closet. There had to be something else around here somewhere. He grasped at the darkness until his hand caught onto a basket. Dragging it out into the light, he found some more of his casual winter clothes: sweaters, corduroy pants, and the like.

It would have to do.

He slipped on some underwear before removing the towel to put on his other clothes; he was comfortable around John, but not _that_ comfortable. When he was finished, Bruce turned to face his friend and noticed that he had covered his eyes at some point while Bruce was changing.

Cute.

Bruce tried to suppress a smile as he walked up to John.

Giving the man a quick once over, he decided that there was one more thing he should do if he wanted John to look presentable – or at least as presentable as he possibly could be in Bruce’s oversized clothes.

“Before we go.”

Bruce reached down and unbuckled the belt around John’s waist. As he suspected, it was at its tightest setting; but he could afford to damage one belt to ensure the man looked a little less ridiculous. John wasn’t exactly making a first impression on either Al or Tiffany, he’d ruined any chances of making a good one of those a long time ago, but hopefully he could make a better impression now.

John stiffened slightly at his touch and Bruce suddenly realized what this must seem like. It was a bit late to turn back now and he knew any explanation he could offer would only stutter out of his mouth and make this even more awkward; so, rather than explain himself, Bruce pulled the waist of the slacks up so they were level, tightened the belt until it looked halfway normal, and applied enough pressure for the prong to poke a hole through the belt strap.

“There,” he declared with a satisfied smile, “Now you look presentable too.”

When his gaze moved from John’s waist to his now uncovered face he noticed that the man was wearing a strange expression again. There was noticeable colour in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the black eye Harley gave him and his lips were parted, if only slightly.

“Uh, thanks, buddy,” he murmured reverently, staring intently into Bruce’s eyes for a moment before both his expression and tone returned to normal, “I didn’t want to make holes in your stuff.”

“Thank you, John, I appreciate that,” Bruce replied warmly, sure to keep any of his feelings of uncertainty regarding the look on John’s face out of his voice, “You ready to see the Batcave?”

John was suddenly as giddy as a schoolboy, his eyes wide and grin even wider.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, letting out a fit of nervous laughter.

Bruce led them through the halls and down the stairs that brought them to the cave’s hidden access point, shushing John’s sporadic laughing fits as they went. He was ninety-nine percent certain that there was no one else in the manor, but he didn’t want to risk it. However, his shushing did little to quiet John’s excited giggles as he turned the hands on the clock and opened the secret entrance.

“That’s just _so cool_ , Bruce!” the man whisper-shouted eagerly, bobbing up and down like a dog who just heard someone say the word walk.

Bruce sighed as he ushered him through, but couldn’t deny the warm feeling he felt in his chest every time John got like this. Especially when it was because of Batman. Bruce didn’t really want any hero worship, he never had, but he was happy that Batman was able to make someone who he hadn’t just saved feel something aside from fear.

John’s continuous bobbing came to an abrupt halt the moment he got a glimpse of the cave. There was a moment of silent awe, which was promptly broken by John lunging forward so fast that Bruce worried he was going to topple headfirst off the platform; instead, he flung himself against the railings, eyes wide and head swiveling unnaturally fast in his attempts to take everything in.

Bruce was tempted to tell him to calm down, and part of him even wanted to say something like, “pretty cool, right?” but he kept his mouth shut. John would only get to see the Batcave for the first time once; he might as well let him enjoy it.

John jumped off the platform with an excited yelp a couple feet before it reached the bottom and immediately made a beeline for the armory.

“This is so amazing!” John cackled, his voice echoing throughout the cave as Bruce stepped out of the elevator.

A quick glance to his right informed him that Alfred and Tiffany were by the computer, looking more than a little uneasy. He gave them a quick, hopefully reassuring wave before heading over to John. Alfred was sitting down again, and given that he made no motion to get up to meet him or his guest Bruce suspected he and John would have to go to them.

He strode over to John at a leisurely pace, observing how his pale green eyes darted back and forth absorbing every detail of Batman’s first suit before moving on to the gadgets.

“I’m glad you like it,” Bruce responded to the man’s earlier exclamation, watching as John tapped his steepled fingers together giddily, “We’re probably going to be spending a lot of time down here. The manor isn’t really safe at the moment.”

“No, no, the manor is fine,” John reassured him, never taking his eyes off the display case, “Those _Agency_ people already came and left, I made sure of it. I waited outside until they were gone before I went inside and waited for you.”

Bruce found that news somewhat reassuring; John hadn’t simply headed straight to a place the Agency would obviously check for the both of them. When was John ever stupid, after all?

“That may be the case, but we can’t just assume they’re never coming back, “Bruce replied, “It’s not very comfortable down here but Tiffany seems to have brought down some mattresses so we should have a place to sleep at least. No bathroom–” a fact that Bruce would be cursing once again if it hadn’t just led him to John “–but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

John merely nodded, plainly still distracted by the array of gadgets that lay before him.

“Considering we’re going to be here for a while, why don’t we put the tour on hold while you meet Alfred and Tiffany,” Bruce suggested.

John let out a small sigh, his eyes lingering on the Batarangs for a moment longer, before he turned towards the other end of the cave. Bruce smiled as he gestured for John to follow him and began treading towards his companions. John’s face was somewhat sullen and nervous as he followed close beside Bruce.

After a few moments of walking in silence Bruce offered, “I could teach you how to use those, if you want.”

Out of the corner of Bruce’s eye he could see that angular face light up and heard the renewed spring in his step. John was easy to please. Easy to set off too, but certainly easy to please.

Even so, he saw some nervousness creeping back into the man’s countenance the closer they got to Al and Tiffany. John wasn’t the best at social graces, but he was probably aware that Tiffany didn’t like him every much. The scowl on her face and the daggers she glared at him were rather obvious signs. Al seemed less unabashedly pissed off, but he didn’t exactly look very pleased to see John either.

This was going to be an uphill battle.

“It’s hard to believe, but I found him upstairs,” Bruce said in lieu of a greeting, the cheer in his voice a bit too obviously forced to adequately hide his own nerves, “Always the last place you look, right?”

No one said anything.

Off to a great start.

“So, uh, this is John,” he began, gesturing to his friend.

“John Doe,” the other man clarified gently.

“Right, John Doe,” Bruce continued, “John, this is Tiffany Fo–”

“We’ve met,” Tiffany stated, crossing her arms defensively.

John’s head drooped slightly, a look of shame spreading on his face.

“Yes, you have, but that was a very different and difficult time for everyone,” Bruce replied, imploring Tiffany with his eyes to be civil at least, “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“I already got that at Wayne Tower,” John murmured, still unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

“Yes, well, third time’s the charm.”

It was obvious that Bruce was rapidly running out of excuses and now resorting to tired clichés. Thankfully, Tiffany gave in, sighing and offered a hand for John to shake. The man’s eyes rested on her hand, flitted up towards her face, then back down to her hand before he finally extended his arm and completed the handshake.

Good, good. Only one more to go.

“And this is Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce stated, gesturing at the bespectacled man.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doe,” Alfred’s voice was somewhat more stiff than usual but less so than Bruce had worried it’d be, “I would engage in the usual formalities but I am afraid I cannot stand to greet you at the moment.”

“Oh, not a problem,” John replied.

He moved towards Alfred and leaned forwards, overextending his arm so ridiculously that his left leg lifted a foot or two off the ground and dangled behind him for balance. Of course, Al didn’t miss a beat, maintaining a straight face both while accepting the goofy handshake and afterwards when John teetered backwards ludicrously in his attempt to right his posture and almost fell over before catching himself.

The green haired man coughed awkwardly before adding, “The pleasure is all mine, really. It’s kind of like meeting a celebrity – you’re _the_ Alfred – I, uh, I’ve been collecting tabloid photos of Bruce for years—and you’re in the background of at least a third of them!”

Bruce bit back his own nervous giggles, staring down at the ground until he could regain his composure. He wasn’t aware that John was such a fan – outside of his deification of Batman, of course. If it were anyone else Bruce would have probably found that more than a little off-putting, but considering it was John – who had cut out a picture of Bruce’s head and taped it over top of the face of another, much more freaked out, man of roughly Bruce’s build – Bruce just felt a little embarrassed. He hoped John didn’t believe too much of what he read in the gossip column. Even if Bruce consciously chose to propagate three quarters of the rumours that tabloids spread about him the other quarter were more than a little out of hand.

At least John’s extreme anxiety had given him a chance to show off his own special brand of charm. Tiffany seemed to soften a little more after that and even Alfred relaxed a bit; he was still nearly stiff as a board, but maybe more like a board made out of spruce rather than mahogany.

John kept giggling only somewhat menacingly throughout the rest of the morning, but at least _some_ of his laughter was about something funny. He was still clearly stressed though; even when he went off by himself to look at Bruce’s collection of memorabilia – his eyebrows knitting together above a scowl when he got to Riddler’s cane – John kept glancing back anxiously at the others.

Bruce couldn’t quite pin down why his friend was _this_ nervous though. The introduction went as well as Bruce could have realistically envisioned, really. John was endearing, Al and Tiffany were accepting – everything went better than expected. So why was John acting like it was prom and he was trying to make a good impression with his date’s parents?

Bruce didn’t have the energy to think about that right now. He had been awake for too long, even by his standards. For now he was going to pass out on the closest mattress and leave those thoughts for well-rested Bruce to deal with.

Or so he had hoped.

“Bruuuuce.”

John’s distinctive, not so dulcet tones roused him from the brink of sleep.

“Yes?” Bruce mumbled, opening an eye to look at his friend.

“I was wondering what the plan is,” the man paused as if he expected Bruce to know what he was on about before continuing, “You know, how we’re going to deal with the Agency.”

“I honestly haven’t had a moment to think about it,” Bruce replied, propping himself up on his elbow, “I’ve spent every moment since the bridge looking for you…or relocating Nora.”

The corners of John’s mouth quirked up into a poorly restrained smile as he said, “Yeah, I’ve been pretty unable to get my mind off you too.”

One of Bruce’s eyebrows immediately shot up without his permission, but he forcibly suppressed any other reaction to that comment. That would be another issue for well-rested Bruce to deal with. If he was ever allowed to get that rest, that is.

John continued, seemingly unabashed by Bruce’s silence.

“But now that we’ve found each other we can start thinking about all the things we’re going to do together! Batman and John, the new dynamic duo!” He waved his hands in an arc above his head to mimic a banner. “Does that sound right to you? I don’t know, there’s something off about it. I guess it’s that I don’t have a cool name like you do, Bruce. The Batman name, obviously, not the Bruce one—not that Bruce is a bad name or anything, I like it a lot, but that’s not the point. What was the point? Oh yeah, I should take on a new name too! And I’ll keep the first letter the same for it, just like you did! Although, that does make your identity a bit more obvious when you think about it, Brucie—but nevermind, ummm, what should I pick…jjjjackalman, no definitely not. Uh, how about justice! No, that would treat on your territory a bit too much. Ugh, I can’t think of anything…I know! Why don’t you pick, Bruce?”

The torrential downpour of words falling from John’s lips left Bruce momentarily stunned, and a bit confused, but he recovered quickly.

“Well, your name is an integral part of your identity when fighting crime,” he explained to his completely enraptured audience of one, “I don’t think I should choose it for you. It’ll come to you, in time. But if a lot of time goes by and it continues to elude you then I can help, if you’re still interested.”

John made a pleased hum and nodded vigorously.

“You still haven’t answered about the plan,” John noted, “That’s my fault though, I got us off track.”

“Like I said, no plan yet.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy John.

“Then let’s make a plan now.”

“I know this may be hard to believe, John, but even Batman needs to sleep.”

This did the opposite of satisfying John, as he turned his gaze to the ground with a small pout.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he mumbled, “I just got so excited, you know?”

“You don’t need to apologize, I just–” Bruce hesitated, biting his lip; he hadn’t meant to hurt John’s feelings, but he just _could not_ deal with any real planning right now, “I’m too tired to be of any use at the moment, and we honestly have to have a talk about following a code before you’re ready to go out and ‘ _bring people to justice_ ’ alongside Batman.”

Whoops.

Bruce wanted to broach the subject of the bridge a lot more gently than that, but he obviously let a bit of his anger over John’s actions seep into his words and his voice. Unfortunately, no matter how unintentional his tone, John was clearly not going to let it slide seeing as the man now looked more enraged than apologetic.

“They tried to kill me, Bruce!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, John, I didn’t mean–”

“That _Agency_ deserves whatever’s coming to them!”

“Maybe they do, but I have to think about more than just getting justice.”

Bruce’s voice was firm. He could not waver about any of this, no matter how hard he found it to say no to John. This was too important to let his feelings get in the way.

“When I chose to protect you I put Alfred, Tiffany, Selina, and anyone else I have ever cared about in danger. I would have taken a bullet for you, John, if it had come to it, but I can’t always prioritize you over everyone else. You know I want to do what’s right, what’s just, but when you set off those explosions you didn’t just hurt the Agency, you know that, right? Everyone I hold dear is now vulnerable, but more than that you set off _bombs_ on a bridge full of innocent people! You could have killed any number of civilians, and you nearly killed me. You can’t honestly think that that is okay.”

John watched him carefully throughout his little speech and continued to do so for a brief, but uncomfortable, period of time afterwards. At the very least he seemed to be considering Bruce’s words, even if the way he did so was unnerving.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Bruce,” he began sincerely, although his lack of care for any other innocent lives did not go unnoticed.

“I know that, John, but you have to be more careful. I appreciate that you didn’t _want_ to hurt me but that didn’t make getting knocked to the ground by an explosion any less painful.” John’s lips tightened to a fine line. Bruce knew his words were upsetting John, but he needed to hear them nonetheless. “If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to become partners and fight crime and take on all of the responsibility that comes with that, you need to care about who your actions might hurt.”

“I guess you’re right,” John conceded cheerily, a smile suddenly springing onto his face, “Batman’s code is very important to him – to you – so it’s important to me too. Hopefully it’s something I can follow–” He giggled maniacally. “–But, look on the bright side! You and I are going to fix Gotham together! And if the Agency comes after us we should let it happen. We’re gonna go after them anyways, right? Just makes them easier targets.”

Bruce did not know how to respond to that. There was so much wrong with that John was saying, too much for him to explain in that moment, so he didn’t explain any of it.

At least John was trying, that counted for something.

Bruce had to face the reality that he was taking a man under his wing who he knew with one hundred percent certainty had killed a room full of people with absolutely no remorse. Self-defense or no, John did not even flinch a the thought of taking a life.

Maybe doing this was a mistake, but if so it was a mistake Bruce was going to make. He just hoped that the John he saw on the bridge – the heartfelt, well intentioned John who refused to give Waller the virus, the John that Bruce had seen overflowing with raw potential, the John who had yet to have his big day-saving moment taken away from him at gunpoint – was a person he would be able to coax out of John Doe once more.

The John in front of him grinned happily and clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Good talk, buddy!” he declared before hopping to his feet.

Bruce watched John closely as he trotted back to admire Batman’s arsenal.

This was going to be a steep learning curve.

 

When Bruce awoke nearly twelve hours later, in the middle of the night of course, he expected to see John’s gangly form lying on one of the nearby mattresses or at least to see his vibrant head of hair poking into somewhere it probably shouldn’t be; however, the only people he saw were Al and Tiffany slumbering as soundly as possible given their current sleeping arrangements.

He stumbled to his feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and noticed something amiss. There was a little card on the table with his name haphazardly scribbled on the front. Well, not so much a card as a piece of paper folded up to look like a card. Bruce only knew one guy who would go out of his way to do something like that.

Bruce sighed as he made his way over to read the note.

_Hi Bruce!_

_Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, again, but you won’t have to be without your good buddy for long!_

_I just need to get a few things sorted out…like fixing my phone. I promise I’ll call you when I can!_

~~_Sin_~~ ~~_Lo_~~ _See ya soon!_

_John_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not (probably not) I actually wrote this before Episode 5. John waving his hands like he was creating a banner when he talked about his hero name, Bruce telling John that he needs to be careful or he’s going to hurt someone he really doesn’t intend to, and more were all written before Same Stitch was released! I considered titling this chapter “I Didn’t Steal from Telltale, Telltale Stole from Me, Fuck You, Fight Me!” but I thought that might be a LITTLE bit confrontational. I’m joking about that part, obviously, hard to argue that Telltale stole from me when I’m, you know, writing fanfiction of their work. I did have to make a couple edits to this based off the events of Episode 5, like adding a line from Alfred and John’s first meeting in the alley to their first meeting in this chapter, as well as adding John’s exit and the card he leaves at the end.
> 
> I thought I was going to have to scrap over half this chapter but then I realized I could just tweak it a bit and still make it work with the canon timeline. I will of course be messing with some of the upcoming events to suit the story’s purposes, but I’ll be sticking as close to canon as possible up to a very specific point in time…by which I mean all the murder.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it, and see you next week!


	4. So Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! If you haven’t played or watched the game this chapter might be a bit difficult to follow. I’m kind of relying on the idea that you have experienced Season 2, Episode 5’s vigilante route so that you can follow along with John’s erratic stream of consciousness. Even with that knowledge and the timestamps I incorporated it’s a little hectic, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit difficult to fully get what’s happening; John has a lot of feelings, a lot of thoughts, and a lot of things to say when it comes to the chaotic nightmare that is Episode 5, so they sometimes come out in a bit of a jumble. I just hope it’s an enjoyable jumble. Also, I promise future chapters won’t be quite this all over the place.
> 
> P.S. There was a slight formatting issue last chapter and John’s first two attempts at sign-offs to his note were supposed to be crossed out. That detail is sort of important, so I thought I’d clarify. I’ve changed it now, but sorry if it read as a bit strange before.

You live it up, is it enough  
To be in love with a reflection?  
You wanna win, just like them  
Don’t confess you’re more or less like them  
So sorry, I’m so sorry  
I didn’t mean it  
I’m disappearing and I’m so so sorry  
I ask myself  
…  
What would I ask you  
If you didn't mind?  
Why would I ask you  
To decide, decide, decide  
Decide, decide, my side?  
Decide your side and my side  
…  
Our side, our side, our side

July Talk - So Sorry

 

**Day 1: Resolve**

**2:03 PM**

John hadn’t really _wanted_ to leave the Batcave – it was all just so cool and amazing and he wanted to stay there forever with Bruce, with Batman, just _wow_ – but he felt like it was something he _needed_ to do.

When Bruce spoke to him about Batman’s code and all of the hoops he would need to jump through to be a real hero it unsettled him. He felt like a coward for hiding out in Bruce’s bedroom just hoping that he’d show up day after day. John should’ve been out there _doing_ something instead of dissociating in a corner.

After their talk John had watched Bruce sleep for a little while, trying to figure out what he should do. Alfred kept asking him if he “needed anything” but he always politely refused, which only seemed to make the butler’s voice increasingly uneasy with each successive time he posed the question. John knew he had that effect on people, but he didn’t see how watching Bruce sleep was all that weird…he had to watch a lot of people sleep in Arkham on the rare occasions that overpopulation became a big enough problem for the administration to start buddying up some of the inmates. John almost always got saddled with somebody because Doctor Leland said he had the right temperament for a roommate – which just meant he wasn’t gonna kill the guy, unlike a lot of his fellow wards of the state.

Anyways, John had an epiphany as he watched Bruce toss and turn; if he was going to live up to Bruce or Batman’s expectations he was going to have to do something to earn the respect of the man, the myth, the legend. John had to go out there and make himself into the kind of hero worthy of working alongside Batman! He didn’t want to get in because of some sort of favouritism, after all.

Unfortunately, to do so he would have to leave this fantastic place and his favourite person behind for a while. He didn’t really have much on him, but after Alfred and Tiffany fell asleep – or at least pretended to – John searched around until he found a piece of blank paper and a pen. He wrote a little note, the words flowing easily from his hand until he reached the sign-off.

What was he supposed to say? Well, Doctor Leland had told him to end all his letters with “Sincerely,” but when he started to write it out it just felt wrong. Too formal. So, he should go personal…yeah, just tell Bruce how much he meant to John! He got halfway through this from-the-heart send off before realizing that Bruce might take it…well, not the _wrong_ way exactly. But words too strong, once spoken, could overpower even the strongest of bonds if voiced sooner than they should. All right, he could to this, just be friendly John, leave him with something that lets him know how you feel in a _friendly_ way.

_See ya soon!_

John stared intently at the note, waffling between setting it up nicely on the table and crumpling it into his pocket; as long as Bruce was still asleep, as long as John didn’t leave, he could still pretend he never wrote the letter, never planned on leaving. John gritted his teeth. That would be the coward’s way out and John wasn’t going to be a coward – not anymore. After a few moments, he placed his farewell address on the table with shaking hands and headed for the elevator.

It killed John to leave Bruce after seeing how happy his best buddy was to see him again. And, uh, maybe he was a bit reticent to leave behind the butterflies he got in his stomach when Bruce walked around in nothing but a towel, brushed against John’s hips – even through his shirt – as he fixed his belt, or talked about presenting him to “the family.” But it was better to repress those feelings for now, at least until he could figure out how to become a better version of himself – one worthy of even considering, never mind acting on, those feelings – because if he kept on going the way he was right now he knew he would never be good enough to fight side by side with Batman, let alone think of Bruce _that_ way.

_Why_ did Bruce have to do all those things? John wasn’t ready to move on; his feelings for Harley were still too raw – even though he handed her over to the Agency he wasn’t quite over her just yet. John knew Harley wasn’t all that great for him, that she cared more about her mission than she did about him, but that didn’t make his feelings just evaporate overnight – or over three nights, to be more accurate.

 

**Day 13: Revolution**

**10:03 PM**

Now though, with nearly fourteen nights under his belt, John understood that maybe he wanted more than friendship from Bruce.

But, first things first! Win over Batman. If John could manage to bag the big guy’s approval then Bruce’s would surely follow.

Oh gosh, he was so nervous. John had fixed his phone a few days ago but he hadn’t received any word from Bruce. He was probably just giving him space, John reminded himself, waiting for good ole Johnny boy to call like he told Bruce he would.

It took him a while to finally work up the nerve to call Bruce. So, when the call went to voicemail John had to admit he was more than a little relieved. He wasn’t sure he was ready to actually talk to Bruce – not with the way he left – but it was nice to hear the guy’s voice nonetheless, even if it was just a recording. That being said, he was a bit nervous his friend wouldn’t get the message in time to snag front row seats to his little performance.

So, John couldn’t have been more thrilled when Batman actually showed up! A personal call might be more useful than shining a light into the sky and hoping Bruce happened to look outside; John would have to remember that for later.

The whole sequence went down better than John could’ve imagined – he even got to make a grand entrance! John swung down from the roof, threw one of his Jokerangs and a smoke bomb, and fought all those pathetic agents _and Bane_ in tandem with Batman. John just couldn’t get over how _amazing_ it was!

On top of that, it felt like vindication. Disappearing for one week – no, wait, two weeks – to work on his hero look and skills had paid off! He was so worried it would be a waste of time, but he was pretty sure Bruce was actually impressed. Admittedly, it was a little hard to tell, what with the mask and all.

It had felt a bit less stellar when Batman pulled him off of Bane and lectured him – again – about not killing people. He was really going to have to remember that…

But Bruce was being so nice! Firm, obviously – I mean, come on, he’s _Batman_ – but nice. And John was sure – just so one hundred percent sure – that Bruce looked happy to see him! John had to actively suppress those butterflies that were so rudely pestering him again; it just wasn’t the time. He had to stick to the plan: Batman first, Bruce second.

The best thing – wait, no, maybe second best thing – was when John got to _save Batman_. He wrapped his arm around Batman’s waist and grappled away, just like his hero always did!

Wow…John was almost at a loss for words.

_Almost_.

Because how could he _not_ have a million words racing through his head?? Like awesome, amazing, incredible, unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime, _super_ romantic, kind of hot—no, no, no more words. Repress, suppress, breathe, focus on the now. John knew it wasn’t a healthy way to handle things, but it was the best he could do at the moment. He already had too many feelings to deal with, he didn’t need any more crashing in like a bullet train and messing everything up.

When they landed John got to do a superhero landing, _just like Batman!_ He got to see Al again, which was nice, he supposed. Oh, oh, but then he got to ride in the _Batmobile!_

_The_ Batmobile!

That memory was going to linger in his dreams for weeks to come, he was sure of it.

 

**11:47 PM**

Even in his elation, John had this nagging little voice in his head telling him he was going to mess everything up, but so far he had proven it wrong. Things were going so well! John felt really cool, prowling through the darkness totally undetected. The best part was Waller didn’t notice his presence when she sprung her little trap on the Batman and their new associate. The giddiness from that little victory was still vibrating through his body when Harley entered the scene.

Oh gosh, that left him shaken for entirely different reasons.

But he was good, ‘cause he remembered his exercises! Deep breaths. In…out.

It hurt to see Harley like this. Half a month apart was a long time, long enough for John to gain some perspective.

John knew Harley was bad for him – well, he always knew she was bad news, he just never thought that news would affect him. Now he understood that she didn’t really care about him – had never cared about him – she just wanted to _use_ him, just like everyone else did, just like Bruce—no, no, don’t think about that either; that went in the to-continue-suppressing pile.

But then Batman had to go and _ruin_ it all by making a deal with Waller! It was maybe a _little_ heartwarming that Bruce wasn’t willing to give him over to Waller, even for Catwoman – but that wasn’t the point! Batman, his _hero_ , was being a…a hypocrite! How could he just let Waller walk after she accused John of murder? And, uh, all the other horrible things she did, of course.

Well, Batman didn’t really leave him with any choice, did he? One way or another John was going to make sure the Agency paid for their crimes. Considering what a hypocrite Batman was being, did it really matter if the vigilante didn’t “approve” of his methods? John had tried doing things his way. Now, it was Joker’s turn.

 

**Day 14: Realization**

**10:29 PM**

Okay, so, maybe “Joker’s turn” didn’t go so well.

He probably should have learned his lesson, shouldn’t he? Explosions plus crowds of people plus Bruce equaled a whole lot of regret.

It was just that they were cornered, he and Batman, and there was no way for them to get out if he didn’t pull out his last resort – and that’s what the mannequin heads were, a last resort, he never really thought he’d actually _use_ them – so he had to do it, right? It all would have been fine if it weren’t for Bruce’s ceaseless need to protect people who didn’t deserve it! All that did was get him hurt.

Last time, though, Bruce had walked away with a bit of road burn – and a high horse to ride in on as he pronounced the error of John’s ways – but this time John was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten off so lucky. He didn’t even know if his best friend was _alive_ , let alone if he was doing okay.

He probably wasn’t feeling all that good since that bomb knocked him through more than a couple floors. The aftermath of the explosion left John completely shaken to his core – although, maybe not _quite_ as shaken as the GCPD headquarters given that he literally destroyed the core of the building, but he was pretty sure he was still in the running.

There was a moment where John considered diving into the crater, or at least scaling down the rubble, to check on Batman, but ironically Batman’s code had held him back. The mission came first. If Batman – if Bruce – was dead there was nothing he could do, and there was no way he was dead anyways, right? One of his hastily made explosions couldn’t _kill Batman_. He was stronger than that. This wasn’t like the bridge – Bruce was wearing armour now. He would be fine. So, John had to keep his eye on the prize.

John’s daring escape – all while holding Waller hostage – was _quite_ the story. Or, at least he figured it was. It was honestly all a bit hazy; he barely remembered anything after the roof caved in. He figured he’d just fill himself in on the details when he caught up with the news after this was all over. He could head back to Bruce’s place, watch the playback on one of those big screens he had, and bask in his good deed.

Here’s the thing: John didn’t have a _complete_ lack of self-awareness. He knew that the news wasn’t going to see what he did as good or right or just. But Bruce would, wouldn’t he? He had to. John hadn’t _killed_ Waller, after all. He brought her to Ace Chemicals, where they would be left to their own devices safely away from any potential bystanders that John might blow up. That way there would be no interruptions, which was the last thing John needed right now. Waller was tied up to a big painted cask, Lauren held the camera that he had, er, picked up from a storefront on the way here in her hand, and the big guy was standing by for protecting in case things got _wild_ again for some unforeseen reason.

“We all ready?” John asked his two cohorts fervently, eliciting a nod out of each of them, “Great! Places everybody!”

Lauren positions herself stage left, the camera trained on Waller.

John couldn’t help but grin. Finally, justice would be served. It was show time!

“Alright, Waller,” he began, his voice dropping into a growl as he paced in front of his super guilty suspect, “Why did you–”

“Wait!” Lauren exclaimed, lowering the camera as John whirled around to face her, “I don’t think it’s recording anything.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, dumbfounded as he briskly strode up to her and peered at the device in her hands, “It should just record! Is it broken or something?”

“It’s saying…no tape?” she offered, eyebrows raised.

“Why would it need tape?” he pondered, positioning himself behind Lauren so he could see what she was talking about.

Sure enough, there it was: “NO TAPE.”

“It means film,” the big guy behind him offered, “Did you not bring film for the camera?”

“I didn’t know it _needed_ film,” John replied, growling in frustration and fighting the ever-growing urge to hurl the stupid contraption into one of the bubbling vats below.

“I can get us some,” Lauren proposed, “I know a place that’s open late that should have the kind of film we need.”

John’s burgeoning reply was cut short by the quiet, dark laughter coming from their hostage, which drew all of their attentions.

“I cannot believe I was captured by such a farcical, pathetic group of idiots,” Waller muttered, shaking her head.

John forced himself to keep his cool. He needed to do this the right way – the way Batman would have wanted – so he needed to get this confession on tape without torture. At least, without _a lot_ of torture.

“Right, great, just…go get that please, Lauren,” he requested, his hands balling into painfully tight fists; as Lauren nodded and headed towards the exit, John turned back to face Waller and snarled, “I am—no, _we_ are not pathetic or idiots. When Lauren gets back with the tape you will see just how seriously you should have been taking me all along.”

Proud of his threat, but restraining his delight as to maintain his aggressive exterior, John smirked and twirled his knife menacingly. Before long everything would be ready and Waller would have her just desserts.

 

**5:32 AM**

Why?

Why couldn’t things go his way? Just once?

John sat in complete silence; his arms slumped over the lowest railing of the elevated platform, head resting against the middle bar, and legs dangling off the side.

In all the excitement he had forgotten that it was a weirdly long drive to Gotham. Even though the plant was technically part of the city it was so out of town that he could only just make out the big W on Wayne Tower. It had been seven _freaking_ hours and John was _just so BORED._

He had been so sure they would be done by now. He thought that he’d be curled up on one of those mattresses in the Batcave that – even without bedding – looked more comfortable than anything he’d ever slept on. With Waller’s confession he and Bruce might even be in the clear, so maybe they’d have been able to relocate to the top floor and sleep in real bedrooms. Wouldn’t that have been nice…

“I’m here!”

John’s head shot up as Lauren burst through the door.

“Sorry it took so long,” she apologized somewhat breathlessly, as if she had dashed here from her car, “There was some traffic and I had a bit of difficulty finding the store after dark, I’m so used to seeing it in the dayti–”

“It’s all good!” John interjected, scrambling to his feet, “You got the tape?”

Grinning, she held up a plastic bag and shook it triumphantly.

“Great!”

John practically beamed down at her as she jogged over to the ladder and began climbing up towards them. Now they could finally get this show on the road! Eagerly, he hurried over to her as she reached the top; she held the bag out in front of her and opened it to reveal what looked like more than twenty tiny plastic rectangles. They didn’t really look like tape to John, but he trusted Lauren enough to have faith that she got the right stuff. Even so, John had to admit to some doubts as he watched her open one of the rectangles, take out an even smaller rectangle, and put it into the camera; but, thankfully, his faith proved to be well-placed – a red light flashed on and the word “rec” appeared in the top corner of the little screen.

Thank goodness! He wasn’t sure he’d be able to last another six hours if this hadn’t worked out – and Waller definitely wouldn’t have lasted if he had to spend that long cooped up in here with nothing but knives and time.

Thankfully, that was no longer the case.

Now he had knives, time, and a camera!

John spun to face Waller with a no-doubt wicked grin twisting his lips.

“We all ready?” he asked again, casually tossing his knife into the air.

“Everything looks good, Joker,” Lauren replied.

He glanced at the big guy, who have him an affirmative nod and took a more menacing stance.

Wonderful! Everything was in place, eveyrbody was raring to go, and their lengthy detour had given John several more hours to go over exactly what questions he was going to use to interrogate Waller.

Alright, for real this time.

“It’s show time!”

 

**5:58 AM**

But Batman always had to steal the show, didn’t he?

On the one hand, John was over the moon that Batman actually showed up. That meant he was safe – and alive – which meant that John didn’t have to feel so guilty anymore. So, that was good. Although, the way Batman was favouring one side in his movements made it pretty clear that John wasn’t entirely off the hook.

On the other hand, the guy wasn’t exactly being the most supportive partner. He didn’t _approve_ of John’s methods, even though Batman’s methods were the ones he was trying to use! It was just so frustrating! Even more frustrating was how he seemed to take Waller’s side, even though he kept claiming that he wasn’t. John could see that Batman shared Bruce’s knack for knowing just what to say.

Oh yes, Batman knew how to pull John’s strings, how to make him question his morals and ideals – even his very sanity. John wasn’t crazy. John was released from Arkham – by Doctor Leland no less! He didn’t need that place or its doctors or its meds or its inescapable, all-enveloping loneliness anymore. And nothing – _nothing_ – Batman could say would convince him otherwise. That’s what he kept reminding himself as the caped crusader followed him up into the rafters.

“You move, she dies,” John threatened, turning to face his pursuer.

It had the desired – and oh-so-expected – effect of stopping him just a few steps from where he landed. Good, now John had a bit of time to present his side.

“I’m trying really, really hard to do this your way,” he explained, “I want to just slice her throat right here, right now. But I’m getting _proof_ of her guilt, just for you.”

“I can see that you’re trying,” Batman replied, stepping closer, “But this isn’t the way.”

“Don’t coddle me!” John screamed, frantically trying to hold on to his own perceptions, his own ideas.

He couldn’t just give in to Batman like he always did; there was no way he was going to let himself be manipulated, not again.

“I’m not coddling you, I promise!”

The desperation in Batman’s voice gave him pause. That didn’t sound like Batman talking to Joker. That sounded like Bruce talking to John. Bruce, his best bud, his hero, the guy that he tried _so hard_ to get to love him.

John’s hand was shaking, but he tried to still it. Bruce was just trying to get him to let Waller go, so she would leave town without him having to get his hands dirty. Why should he cater to Batman’s code when it didn’t get real justice?

“Please,” Bruce pleaded, gripping the railing for support so tightly that it began to quake under him, “Just listen to me.”

He was clearly a lot more injured than he initially let on, and John found it hard to listen to him when the weight of his guilt over wounding Bruce so badly was crushing him. He never meant for Bruce to get hurt, how was he supposed to know that Batman was going to dive into danger to protect those criminals and Agency scum?

Oh right, because he’s Batman.

Batman doesn’t kill – or let his friends kill, apparently.

“I’m not lying to you,” Bruce continued, “It’s clear that you’re actually trying. I know how much you want to kill her, so the fact that you haven’t done it already shows me that you’re genuinely trying to do things my way. That means something to me, and it’ll mean something to Gordon.”

“Why should I care what Gordon thinks?!”

“Because if you stop this, _right now_ , and walk away with me then I can make sure you aren’t arrested–”

“Like hell you can!” Waller shouted, but quickly shut her worthless trap when John pressed a knife into her skin – just a little.

“John–”

“It’s Joker,” he corrected instinctually, glaring down at his hostage.

“No, not between us,” Bruce replied, taking another beleaguered step towards him, “We know each other, like no one else. Two threads in the same stitch, right?”

John’s grip loosened slightly, his eyes cast downwards. He didn’t want to do this anymore. His heart hurt, and so did his hand where Batman had sliced him open with a Batarang. That’s right, Batman had injured John just to stop him from making Waller face the justice she so rightly deserved – again! Just like he was doing now! Playing with his emotions, telling him they had a unique friendship, all in the hopes of setting Waller free! And probably taking him down on top of it–

“I’m sorry, John,” Bruce’s voice, pained and desperate, broke through his overwhelming fog of thoughts, “I failed you. I…I wasn’t a good enough friend. I used you, you know this, but you don’t know how sorry I am for doing it! Your friendship has become so important to me, in some ways even more important than the mission–” Was this what a heart attack felt like? Because John was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating. “–and that’s not necessarily a good thing. The way Alfred looked at me…he warned me about dealing with you, he doesn’t think I’m capable of being objective or rational about this and…and he’s right. I’ve compromised my integrity to protect you, time and time again, and if you come with me now I’ll do it one more time. But only if you don’t kill Waller, or anyone else going forward. You already have eleven deaths on your hands, even if they were in self-defense or collateral damage, and you’ll have to answer for that but those were not premeditated, cold-blooded murder. This would be. If you do this I cannot help you. And please, John, I _really_ want to help you.”

“Gosh, Br-Batman,” he caught himself embarrassedly.

Some of the things Bruce had said weren’t totally positive and they didn’t make him happy in the slightest, but the funny thing was that’s what made John sure that he was telling the truth.

“O…okay,” John sighed, relinquishing his grip on Waller – but not the knife – and lifting his hands in the air in surrender, “For you, Batman.”

Anything for you, Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you very much for reading this chapter!
> 
> I wanted to say something nice to all of you lovely readers before I start my diatribe.
> 
> So, real question, why on earth does it take Batman more than SEVEN HOURS to get to Ace Chemicals? He visits the crime scene with Tiffany and Gordon at 10:35 PM then arrives at Ace Chemicals at 5:52 AM! All right, let’s be generous and say that the previous scene took an hour, which is feasibly the longest it could have taken, which puts it at an over six hour trip. Why?!
> 
> Sorry, just had to get that off my chest.
> 
> I wasn’t planning on incorporating times when I originally wrote this but I thought that doing so would help keep things more coherent and would work well for my kind of comedy movie inspired cutaway humour, and it was only at that point that I realized just how much time passes between those two scenes. So I felt like I had to incorporate that into it too.


	5. Some Place to Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place partially at the end of Episode 5 and partially afterwards (we're finally free from Telltale's timeline!).

So now we'll find some place to go  
And those that do not want us there must go  
When they ask us how we know  
My country said so

July Talk – Jesus Said So

 

A week.

That’s all it took for things to feel almost back to normal, or whatever passed for normal in Bruce’s Life. 

Waller was finally out of his hair, for now at least, he was back to his regularly scheduled nightly crime fighting, and basically all of his time out of the cowl was spent with Alfred and John. Yes, a John rich regimen was his new normal. Not that he minded, of course. The guy had a way of livening things up wherever he went, and the manor was no exception. 

Bruce found himself smiling a lot more nowadays and he was a little embarrassed to say that he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Al kept giving him the side eye when the three of them were together and Tiffany’s eyebrows had a tendency to shoot up whenever Bruce so much as chuckled at one of John’s jokes.

He wasn’t sure what the big deal was. Bruce wasn’t the grim reaper or anything; both of them had seen him smile plenty of times! Sure, he was grinning somewhat more than usual, but he couldn’t really help it. It was nice to have a friend. He wasn’t really used to having someone aside from Al be so unconditionally caring towards him.

Tiffany came close, sure, but her consistent presence in his life was a rather new development. She was more than a few years younger than Bruce and she had always been very dedicated to her academic career, so they never spent much time together until recently. And, even when they had seen each other, it wasn’t like she knew what his life was really like.

Like everyone but Alfred and Lucius, Tiffany had only really known his mask. Now that she knew the real him their relationship was a bit different, especially since he was taking her out into the field with him, but this change was something he had chosen to initiate. Bruce decided to let down his mask for her. He hadn’t really been given the choice with John.

~

“Don’t coddle me!”

The visceral anguish and panic in John’s voice mixed together into a very dangerous cocktail.

Bruce had wanted to simply take off his cowl and talk to John like a human being so badly, but they weren’t exactly alone. Waller and Tiffany already knew his identity, but the same couldn’t be said for John’s two lackeys down below. He was definitely still in their line of sight, and Lauren’s camera would prove particularly problematic for that plan of action. If only he could get John alone…but he knew there was no way he would be able to convince him to simply let Waller go for a second while they sorted things out.

If he couldn’t take off the mask literally then he’d have to settle for doing so figuratively.

“I’m not coddling you, I promise,” Bruce cried out frantically.

Oh god, he was going to have to say something to back that up now, wasn’t he? John was looking at Bruce expectantly, his lithe frame quaking anxiously. What the fuck was he supposed to say? No, not “supposed to,” he reminded himself; if he just did what he was supposed to do then the John he knew would be lost forever. There was no way of getting around it was there? He was going to have to be… _ vulnerable _ .

“Please, just listen to me,” Bruce implored, trying to buy extra time to find the right way to do this.

Time was not on his side, however, as his body was quick to remind him. As Bruce’s mind raced, his knees suddenly gave out from under him, forcing him to put all of his weight on the railing for support.

Shit.

Vulnerability was something Bruce was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. Generally speaking, he knew what people wanted to hear and was able to deliver that to them in a delightfully  unassuming package.

That was never the case with John.

John saw right through him. Bruce had long ago given up trying to talk to his friend in platitudes, and it made their relationship quite refreshing but also extremely unnerving.  He often felt helpless when it came to John, despite knowing just how much of an effect he had on the man. For the past month or so he’d been as open and honest as possible, which John had responded to pretty positively. So, Bruce knew that any attempt to sugar coat this situation would never appease him.

Bruce was going to have to present John with the hard truth of their circumstance, while simultaneously ensuring that he bared enough of his soul that he didn’t come off as uncaring or better than thou. It was a difficult tightrope to walk, especially given Bruce’s aversion to revealing too much of himself, but he had always excelled when it came to balancing acts.

All right, Bruce. You can do this.

~

Sometimes, Bruce still wondered what the hell he was thinking! It’s not Joker between us, John; your friendship is more important than the mission, John; I’ll compromise my integrity for you, John. What  _ the fuck  _ was he thinking? This not only set a dangerous precedent for his interactions with John going forward, but it also exposed his weaknesses to Waller, of all people. How was he supposed to be the uncompromising, tough as nails dark knight if he just caved to his friends like that? From that point on, if Waller wanted to hurt him she had more than his identity as ammunition and now, more than ever, she knew exactly where to aim.

Even so, Bruce found it difficult to argue that it hadn’t been worth it. It worked, hadn’t it? John let Waller go, even stepped back a few paces so she could move away freely without fearing his knife suddenly descending upon her at the last second. Unsurprisingly, Waller didn’t run forward to hide behind Batman like the average frightened hostage. She turned on her heel and marched right out the door to her left.

The moment she was gone John had stuck his knife back on his belt and crumpled into a seated heap on the floor. He murmured something about needing a few minutes and, against his better judgment and Al’s advice in his ear, Bruce had allowed John to have them. After a brief, anxiety riddled period of standing on the roof with Tiffany, Bruce was relieved to see John push through the door and walk up to them. He didn’t say anything, but Bruce didn’t need him to. Not yet, at least.

So, despite how exposed Bruce now felt and the scrutiny his little speech would undoubtedly put him under, it was worth it. At least, that’s what Bruce was thinking as he watched the laugh lines crease around John’s eyes as he attempted to land a joke with Alfred. That’s what Bruce figured he was doing, anyways. Honestly he’d tuned out a few minutes ago, entranced by the eager giddiness in John’s face, but that’s what the man had been unsuccessfully attempting to do last time Bruce checked in. 

In the grand scheme of things, the time Bruce had spent with John was a small blip compared to his life before they met. That was why he sometimes became so mesmerized by John’s laugh, or smile, or erratic and grandiose gesturing. Bruce just wasn’t used to people who were so openly emotional.

Al was, well, Al. Despite her natural charisma, Tiffany was rather reserved and preferred to use her sarcastic wit as a barrier between herself and those around her. During their storied friendship, Harvey was ever the politician, albeit an inspiringly idealistic one. The only other person Bruce had allowed to get close was Selina; she was intriguingly flirtatious and clever, but her stubborn refusal to let anyone see her – the real her – sort of went without saying given how closed off she was. 

Bruce was self-aware enough to see that he shared many of these qualities with those he surrounded himself with. He supposed that was why he got along so well with all of them, especially Selina. They were too similar to be enemies, even if they were sometimes on opposing sides. She was the only person he met in his adulthood that he could really be himself with; at least, that’s what he thought before he spent so much time undercover with John.

Admittedly, Selina hadn’t given him a choice in whether or not he dropped the mask. They clocked each other immediately when Harvey introduced them in that café. So, no hiding there. But, even though Bruce trusted Selina, she wasn’t someone he could always rely on. She was a good person, better than she gave herself credit for, but she did have a tendency to prioritize her own wellbeing over that of others. Which was a perfectly acceptable quality for the average person to have, honestly, but it was a hindrance to their relationship – working and otherwise. 

Still, she was important to Bruce. Certainly important enough to stick his own neck out for.

~

“You want  _ what  _ now?”

For once, Bruce couldn’t really blame Waller. After everything that had gone down it was more than a little bold to ask for a favour, but he wasn’t asking without a good reason.

“Release Catwoman from your custody and surrender her to my care,” he asked again, forcing himself to stand straight despite the pain shooting through his body.

Al was going to have to stitch this wound closed again, he just knew it. Bruce resisted the urge to gaze longingly at the stretcher inside the ambulance that separated Waller and himself from the veritable throng of agents, cops, and paramedics milling about. Their conversation was private from everyone except perhaps Gordon who was still close enough that they were both keeping their voices low, even when Waller voiced her incredulous retort.

“First you want me to let John Doe off scott free – no jail time, no asylum, no  _ nothing  _ – so that the two of you can keep playing house, and now you want me to let another criminal go just because you have a personal attachment to her? It seems like Avesta was right about your proclivities, at the very least. And, what, is one sicko not enough for you? Are you trying to build some kind of harem?”

“Catwoman isn’t like Harley or Bane,” Bruce insisted, choosing to ignore her implications, “she hasn’t killed anyone–”

“That  _ you  _ know of,” Waller scoffed.

Bruce raised his eyebrows inquiringly, but she simply shook her head.

“No murders on her rap sheet or in Agency files,” she admitted, sighing, “but you don’t have to kill to be dangerous. She’s a useful asset, Batman. One I don’t have any particular desire to let go of any time soon.”

Bruce had hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to this, but he had already resigned himself to the likelihood of doing so before their conversation began. 

“Before you press this, I think you should consider the gravity of the information that I have at my disposal,” Bruce growled quietly, “I know more than enough to take you down with the push of a button.”

Waller’s eyebrows shot up for an instant before descending harder than Bruce had ever seen them do before.

“You know good and well that that is the only reason I let you have that lunatic in the first place,” she snarled, “John Doe’s freedom should be payment enough for your silence. You brought us to a stalemate, not a route.”

“I was under the impression that you did that because you owed me, remember?” Bruce sniped bitterly, “I saved your life. All I am asking for in return is for you to let two people go. Not even necessarily allow them to go free, merely release them from your custody.”

Waller’s eyes narrowed to such a degree that Bruce wasn’t sure she could really see out of them; but after a few moments she leaned back against the ambulance and heaved a resigned sigh.

“In exchange you give me your word that you will never release those documents,” she offered; Bruce opened his mouth to reply but she quickly cut off his protests, “Unless, of course, I go back on my word or take direct action against you or your people, etcetera, etcetera. Just cut the shit, do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Bruce agreed, extending a hand that Waller swiftly shook in her own before she turned and strode off to address her agents.

To be honest, Bruce was a little surprised that he managed to bargain for nearly everything he wanted. John in his custody, Selina out of bondage, and, although he hadn’t really had enough leverage to make a deal on Avesta’s behalf, he was more than certain he would be able to keep her safe and provide her with new employment opportunities. Less morally grey ones, at that.

Even though he didn’t truly trust Waller, he was able to grapple away content in the knowledge that only those who truly deserved the hammer would have to face it. Still, he couldn’t be certain that an agent wasn’t going to pop out of the woodwork to make him face Waller’s special brand of retribution at some point in the future. Bruce was going to have to be more careful around open windows from now on.

~

“What do you think, Brucie?”

Bruce snapped back to the present, his eyes focusing in on John’s expectant face.

“About what?” he asked uncertainly, his gaze flitting between his father figure and his friend.

“Weren’t you paying attention?” John replied with a small pout, “You were looking at me the whole time.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” Bruce offered bashfully; how long had he been sitting there just staring at John?

“Yes, well, no doubt the pain is getting to you,” Alfred interjected, much to Bruce’s puzzlement, “We should really change the dressing on your wound.”

“I don’t–”

“Yeah, of course, that makes sense,” John cheerily interrupted Bruce before he could object, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

The two older men sat in silence while John essentially skipped away, but the moment he was out of earshot Alfred let out a beleaguered sigh.

“Bruce, I have a question.”

“Uh, sure, ask away,” Bruce replied, failing to conceal just how nervous that phrase made him.

“Do I look like the sort of man who has an interest in stand up comedy?”

Bruce could only blink blankly at Al’s befuddling non sequitur. That really wasn’t the direction he thought he was going to go with this.

“N-no, Al, of course not.”

“Then why were you under the impression that I would enjoy sitting through ten god forsaken minutes of Mister Doe’s antics while you ponder the intricacies of the fellow’s face?”

“I wasn’t pondering the  _ intricacies of his face _ ,” Bruce retorted derisively, “I was thinking about Waller and where we stand with her—where are you going?”

Al had gotten up from his seat and was starting to walk out of the room.

“I am going to fetch our medical kit,” he replied evenly, “My comment about changing your dressing was more than merely an excuse, although it served that purpose quite nicely. Do come along, won’t you?”

“See, the more well-mannered you are the less respected I feel,” Bruce muttered, getting to his feet and following as requested.

Al didn’t say anything more on the subject until Bruce was lying topless on an unpleasantly cold steel slab with his injury on full display.

“You have opened your wound again,” Al commented sourly, grimacing down at him, “I’m going to have to pull out the stitches and completely redo the entire procedure.”

“I’m sorry, Al.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t be straining yourself until it has healed.”

“I know–”

“What happens if one of those thugs harms you again–”

“I don’t think that the average mugger – which are the only ‘thugs’ I’m dealing with, by the way – is going to be able to deal that much damage to Batman, Al. Especially with Tiffany’s newest upgrade to the suit. I am very bulletproof.”

“But not rebar proof,” he muttered grimly, shooting Bruce a glowering look, “You need…”

He trailed off, leaving Bruce with little recourse but to anxiously stare at him until he picked up the conversation once more.

“It matters very little what you need to or should do,” Al stated wearily as he took a tweezer to the first loose stitch, the sudden, unexpected pinch eliciting a harsh intake of breath from Bruce, “You will do whatever you please until the day you stop responding to the radio and I find you face down in some back alley.”

“Al, that’s not going to happen,” Bruce tried to reassure him as soothingly as possible for the present situation, “I’m not alone out there anymore, remember? I’ve got Tiffany, Selina,  _ and  _ John to watch my back.”

“Yes, well, look where that has gotten you,” he replied, gesturing at the slowly healing hole in Bruce’s abdomen.

“Come on, Al, that was different. John wouldn’t–”

“Let’s not discuss this any longer,” Alfred snapped severely, “I do not wish to hear any more of your excuses, or his. This conversation is going nowhere, so why don’t we simply drop the subject altogether.”

“A-all right?” Bruce replied bewilderedly, utterly confounded by both Alfred’s words and tone, “Whatever you want, Al.”

“See, that is what I like to hear,” the butler replied cheekily, smirking wryly as Bruce shook his head in exasperation. 

~

After his conversation with Waller ended, Bruce paused to have a brief discussion of terms with Gordon; admittedly, the pain emanating from the wound in his stomach made the mostly pleasant chat a little difficult. Regardless, Bruce managed to keep his composure throughout it and the long drive back to the manor.

Generally speaking, Bruce wouldn’t usually hide behind the stoic, Batman mask around John or Tiffany, but he didn’t want to show just how injured he was, even to them. John would feel guilty and Tiffany might get scared off, which was the last thing he needed right now.

However, despite his best attempts, when Bruce went to step out of the car once they finally arrived at their destination his legs gave out from under him; he yelped in pain as he crumpled to the ground, cursing his body’s inability to get him just a few steps further. If he could have just gotten to the table he would have been able to casually tell Tiffany and John to go upstairs and then he’d be free to collapse in peace. Alfred would tend to his wounds with only moderate chiding and he wouldn’t have to deal with the worried looks on his friends’ faces.

As things were, however, he tried his best to pull himself to his feet using the car door only to immediately let go as he felt his stitches begin to open up even more. Note to his future self: do not try to pull yourself up using your core when it has a notable hole in it.

“Bruce!”

He felt a surprisingly strong pair of arms loop under his armpits and pull him to his feet. Oh good, he could actually stand. At least his legs weren’t betraying him anymore.

“Are you okay, buddy?” John’s voice inquired from behind him.

The man’s arms had pulled away, but one of his hands was still resting on Bruce’s waist as if anticipating another potential fall.

“Yes, of course, I’ll be fine,” Bruce replied, hoping that his words held true as he took his first steps away from the car.

Thankfully they were, as he managed to make it all the way to the table with only a great deal of difficulty. He would like to imagine that it didn’t seem so arduous from an outside perspective, but he doubted that was the case.

“Are you sure, Bruce?” Tiffany asked, her face contorted in clear concern, “Should we call a doctor or something?”

“That is one of the services I provide, I’m afraid,” Alfred replied as he came up the stairs that led from the computer, “I have a great deal of experience in that area.”

Bruce leaned against the table, still hesitant to hop up onto it until his cohorts had vacated the cave.

“We can handle things from here,” he explained, removing his cowl and setting onto the table beside him, “Why don’t you go get settled upstairs. Hopefully there are still mattresses on some of the beds.”

“More than enough of them,” Tiffany retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure you want us to go, though?” John asked anxiously, flitting away from Bruce’s side likely so he could read his face; this action also gave Bruce the chance to read John’s, however, and the guilt Bruce had wanted so badly to avoid was already there clear as day.

Well, shit.

“Yes, I’m fine, John, you don’t have to worry,” he reassured the man softly, “As Al said, I’m in more than capable hands. So you shouldn’t feel any concern on my part, I promise.”

For a few moments John’s eyes flitted between Bruce’s rapidly and then he wordlessly stuck out his hand with an extended pinky finger. Bruce couldn’t help but smile and shake his head as he curled his own pinky around John’s and sealed the promise.

This still didn’t seem to completely assuage the man’s distress, however, as he bit his lip nervously and hovered for a few more seconds before murmuring a goodnight to all of them and heading for the elevator. All three watched him go and had to hide some level of amusement as he failed to work the controls.

“I guess I should get going,” Tiffany said reluctantly, “Probably won’t make it back before sunrise, but I’m sure I can come up with some excuse to tell mom.”

Well, if you’d rather, you can crash here,” Bruce suggested, “We have more than enough space and it’d probably be less suspicious if you just told her you stayed at a friend’s place for the night.”

“I mean, sure! If you’re both sure you’re cool with it?”

“Of course, Tiffany,” he replied, smiling warmly, “You’re family. You can stay here anytime.” 

“Thanks, Bruce,” she said sincerely, returning his smile.

The conversation was, in Bruce’s opinion, thankfully cut short before it reached peak Hallmark Moment by John’s frustrated groans as he continued his seemingly futile attempt to move the elevator.

“Considering I’m going up anyways, I might as well help him,” Tiffany remarked, waving a quick goodbye to Bruce and Alfred before walking off to join John.”

Bruce sat himself up on the table with only minor difficult, letting out a ragged breath. He watched Tiffany show John how to work the elevator out of the corner of his eye and waited until it had taken them completely out of sight before swinging his legs up and slowly, painfully reclining himself onto the metal slab.

“I suppose this one couldn’t be helped,” Al observed as he busied himself with the medical kit, “No point in giving you a second lecture over the same injury.”

Bruce simply nodded, trying to focus on the family of bats he spotted as they darted along the roof of the cave rather than the sanitized instruments that would soon go to work on his body – oh, there they were.

It wasn’t as if Bruce couldn’t handle a little pain. However, the rebar had left a sizable hole in him and trying to pull the distant edges of said hole together proved quite excruciating. Having near endless amount of money came with just as many perks though, such as being able to afford the good pain meds. So, as soon as they were done here he knew he could take something to numb the pain enough that he’d be able to sleep tonight. Wouldn’t that be a nice change of pace?

“So, I heard that you secured Miss Kyle,” Alfred said, “Should I be preparing a fourth bedroom for her as well?”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Bruce replied, wincing as Al pulled the stitches tighter, “Some agents are supposed to drop her off in the morning, so we have some time. That is, if they even hold up their end of the deal.”

“I would think they will if they know what’s good for them,” Al stated, smiling as he knotted the thread closed, “There, that should hold you until your next foolhardy endeavour.”

“Thanks, Al,” Bruce said, smiling back at Alfred as he sat up, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The smile dropped off the butler’s face in an instant but returned just as quickly, if not as sincerely.

“Well, let’s get you to bed, shall we?” he suggested, swiftly gathering the tools he used to patch Bruce up for their impending sanitation.

Bruce nodded and gingerly dropped down from the table. Despite his careful descent the landing still sent a small pain shooting through him, so he made sure to take a small detour to grab a bottle of painkillers before following Al to the elevator.

A few nights off would probably do him some good. It would make Alfred feel better, that’s for sure. Yeah, a few nights off couldn’t hurt. Any more than that was probably overkill, especially given the mounting pile of things he still needed to attend to. So, Bruce could only hope that would be all the time he needed to recover.

~

“Still favouring your side, I see,” Selina commented as she and Bruce got into the Batmobile.

It was just the two of them out tonight. Tiffany was taking a well-deserved rest and John was still on probation; he had yet to venture outside of Wayne Manor since the incident.

“I’m fine,” Bruce replied irritably, “It’ll heal.”

“I’m just asking, Bruce. No need to bite my head off.”

“I didn’t mean…I’m sorry,” Bruce sighed, leaning his head back against the seat and casting his eyes up towards the car ceiling, “Al was just pestering me about it, that’s all “

“About getting injured?” she replied quizzically, “That’s all part of the job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I suppose the job is getting to be a little much for him,” Bruce shrugged as he leaned forward and started the engine.

“Are you sure it’s the job?” Selina asked.

“What else would it be?”

“Well, you have all these new people coming into your life, living in your home, and intruding on the time that used to be reserved for just the two of you.”

“No, it’s definitely not that,” Bruce dismissed the hypothesis easily with a warm smile, “Al’s not the jealous type. If anything, he’s happy that I’m having something closer to a normal social life.”

Selina cocked a bemused eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, “It’s as normal as I can get, anyways.”

“Yes, really normal, Bruce,” she mused dryly, “A genius geek girl you’re training to take down criminals on the streets of Gotham, a guy who blew you up twice before nearly going off the deep end, and an ex-lover in indentured servitude.  _ Really  _ normal.”

“Is that how you see this?” Bruce asked, frowning over at her, “Indentured servitude?”

“No, Bruce,” Selina sighed, crossing her arms against her chest and reclining against her seat, “Poor choice of words. I suppose what I mean is that I am beholden to you. And, in any case, if I try to leave Waller might put a shock collar around my neck. No cat likes that.”

“Noted.”

Despite her clarification it was difficult to get the phrase out of his head.

Indentured servitude…

“You’re still thinking about it aren’t you?”

She knew him too well.

“Hard not to,” he replied, shrugging, “You can go any time you want, you know that, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Selina turned to him with a smirk, “You couldn’t keep me here if I didn’t want to be, sweetheart.”

“Is that a challenge?” Bruce grinned in return.

He enjoyed their banter. It was something he’d missed in the many months Selina had dropped off the map.

“That’s not the sort of kinky shit I’m into.”

“What?”

“What?” Selina cocked an eyebrow, “Is that not what we were talking about?”

Oh god. Bruce hadn’t considered this outcome at all, although he really should have.

“I-I…it’s just…”

Then, suddenly, Selina began laughing and pressed the back of her hand to her lips to hide her mirth.

“Oh, that’s so cute,” she teased, “I’ve never seen you blush before, Bruce.”

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

“You were joking, then?”

“Yes, of course,” Selina answered, kicking her legs up onto the dashboard, “Neither of us want to go back there, and we both know it. Still, it was fun to watch you squirm. Unexpected too, you’re usually up for a little flirting. Is something different, I wonder? Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Bruce replied quickly, smiling at her as he recomposed himself, “You just caught me off guard.”

“It seems like your guard is down a lot these days,” she pondered, shooting him a wicked grin, “Why would that be, I wonder?”

~

To Bruce’s surprise, John was waiting for him in the lounge when he and Alfred finally exited the Batcave. He hopped up from the couch as the clock moved aside to let them through, but hovered anxiously where he stood rather than move towards them.

“How are things looking? Are you okay?” John directed these questions at Bruce but shook his head, likely realizing that would be a fruitless venture, and turned his attention to Alfred, “Is he okay? He wasn’t damaged beyond repair?”

“He took a considerable beating, but he will recover,” Al replied honestly, patting Bruce on the back, “But to do that he will need rest, as do we all. With that in mind, I am retiring to bed unless either of you gentlemen need anything?”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Al,” Bruce responded with a soft smile, “You go rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Well, I’m glad my hard work doesn’t go unrecognized,” the butler commented before nodding towards John and heading out the door.

John took a few hesitant steps towards Bruce before halting completely. His eyes were focused lower than Bruce’s face again, but this time at least the man knew what his gaze was fixed upon. 

“That looks really  _ not great _ ,” John said, his fingers fiddling with each other in front of his chest, “Is that from…from what happened on the roof?”

“I’ve had worse,” Bruce brushed off the question as he took the steps that John had been too afraid to and bridged the gap between them.

He was close enough now that John had to crane his neck to keep looking at Bruce’s injury, which was seemingly uncomfortable enough that he reluctantly stopped and turned his gaze towards Bruce’s face.

“The thing is,” the man began uncomfortably, “I can’t help but feel like this is my fault.”

Bruce bit back a reflexive “that’s because it is” remark and settled on another tactic.

“It would be condescending for me to try to suggest that you are entirely blameless, but my injuries seem unimportant compared to the people who lost their lives because of your improvisation, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” John muttered, pointedly looking away from Bruce, “But I don’t really know anything about that. I haven’t exactly had time to watch the news and I, uh, don’t actually remember what happened after I grabbed  _ Waller _ .”

He still spat her name with noticeable vitriol; even though he admitted he was in the wrong it seemed like John was still having a hard time letting go.

“It’s all just sort of a blur, Bruce. I grabbed her, I was running – and I think driving? Then we were at Ace Chemicals, I was on the phone with Lauren, and everything after that is pretty clear. I didn’t even know I got anyone killed until you told me about it. So, you’ll have to forgive me if it’s a little hard to process in comparison to the very real hurt I did you that I can see right in front of me.”

“Perhaps I should wear shirts more often,” Bruce proposed half-sarcastically, “Then you wouldn’t have to see it.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” John replied offhandedly before suddenly tensing up.

Bruce cocked an eyebrow as John blinked rapidly for a few seconds before his posture relaxed at least somewhat.

“Better that I face the reality of my actions, right?” the man suggested, letting out a bout of what Bruce now knew was nervous laughter, “Anyways, I am just beat, so I should probably head to bed! Goodnight!”

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Bruce inquired bewilderedly as John zipped straight out of the room.

“I’ll find my way!” he yelped through the open door without looking back, his voice unnaturally high pitched.

By the time Bruce got to the door John had already passed the staircase and was headed down the hall towards the dining room.

“Up the stairs,” Bruce called out to him.

John accordingly turned on his heel and quickly righted his path, but seemed to deliberately avoid looking up at Bruce the entire time he did so.

Bruce could only shake his head as he slowly made his way up the staircase after him. Hopefully John would locate an actual bedroom; Bruce didn’t want to find him curled up in one of the manor’s more spacious closets. Unfortunately, given John’s previous living arrangements he was pretty sure that wasn’t entirely out of the question.

As he got to the top of the stairs, Bruce noticed the door to what he was fairly certain was a bedroom slam shut down the hall; he shook his head again with a soft smile as a small “sorry” emanated from the other side of the door. Despite John’s quiet apology the sound seemed to have alerted Tiffany, who stuck her head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Ereryhing okay?” she asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I think so,” Bruce replied truthfully; at this point he honestly couldn’t be sure.

John was acting strangely, but he was a strange guy. Bruce supposed he probably shouldn’t dwell on it.

“Arigh’,” Tiffany said with a small shrug, “Goonigh’!”

“Goodnight, Tiffany.”

Bruce smiled fondly as she retreated back into the bathroom, but as he turned to go he was suddenly struck with a terrifying realization. Maybe Lucius’ death had even more of an impact on him than Bruce initially though, because he had filled the hole left by his loss with three new teammates. Teammates he’d have to teach, worry about, and care for. Bruce was used to having people on his team who took care of him, not the other way around. How was he supposed to take on this enormous responsibility when he spent every other week on the brink of death getting patched up by Alfred?”

Oh god. What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has been making comments. They're great confidence boosters and really motivate me to keep on schedule, which was a bit difficult to do this week but you guys are responsible for seeing me through. A lot of your comments make not only my day but my...eternity? I can't really put a set limit on the timeframe because every time I think about them I still feel warm and fuzzy inside. So, thank you very much!
> 
> Thank you as well to everyone who leaves kudos, as they also help spur me forward.
> 
> Even if you've never done either of those things and just enjoy my stories, thanks for reading! See you next week!


	6. Picturing Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, again! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, real life has gotten in the way. I actually graduated from university a couple days ago, so I’ve been rather preoccupied with family, school, and work stuff simultaneously. I’ll do my best to remain on time in the future, however, so let’s just try to look at this as a two week, mid-season hiatus!
> 
> On a more on topic note, I’m probably making a bigger deal of this then it has to be, but I just wanted to be clear on something in this chapter so I don’t accidentally make anyone feel hurt or uncomfortable. John’s views on other people’s sexual and romantic orientations are his own and not meant to be taken as my personal declaration of how people should feel or act. John sometimes has a hard time understanding other people’s perspectives, so it can be difficult for him to fathom how people can view love differently than he does. So, no offense intended towards anyone, and please take John’s words both with a grain of salt and as his own, personal perspective.
> 
> Also it’s not exactly supposed to be a super serious moment, especially compared to the content surrounding it; I kind of feel like that’s evident in context, but I wanted to be explicitly clear.

Picture yourself in a tangle with another  
You feel your body awaken  
Your skin is sh-sh-sh-shaking  
Your love needed making  
Pictures mean nothing when you find your own lover  
And I'm talking skin on skin  
That kind of skin that you're in, boy  
That kind that's been where you've been

You, you, you...  
You, you...  
Cause I'm tired of seeing pictures on a screen  
I'm tired of picturing love

July Talk – Picturing Love

 

A week.

That was long enough to wait on the sidelines, right? John had done a fantastic job of controlling his impulses during his first week cooped up in the manor, if he did say so himself.

After everything that went down with the Agency and Waller, he knew that he was on thin ice with Bruce. Even if he hadn’t figured that out for himself, Bruce had made it explicitly clear a few days into John’s stay; Bruce sat him down and told him that he’d need to take some time off so they could work out boundaries and teach him how to follow a code and blah blah blah. John had tried to pay attention – honest – but Bruce just droned on for so long about rules and ethics and it was all just _so_ boring that he’d focused instead on trying to figure out just what shade of blue Bruce’s eyes were. Maybe steel blue? He hadn’t quite decided by the time their one-sided conversation came to a close.

John had done a better job at paying attention during the several briefer conversation on the subject they had throughout the rest of the week. No killing, no guns, force is allowed but torture isn’t, and at the end of the day you have to hand the criminals over to the proper authorities, which more often than not meant Commissioner Gordon. At this point he was pretty sure that he had the code down pact! He’d kept himself from even asking to go out there again so Bruce could see how mature and respectful he was being; but now that he was sure he was ready Bruce was sure to see it too, right?

“No.”

John’s heart sank.

“I’m sorry, John,” Bruce continued with a regretful frown, “I know you’re working hard but it’s not time yet. You’re not ready…or maybe it’s me, maybe I’m not ready. Either way, not tonight, okay?”

John willed a smile onto his face as he replied with a high-pitched, “Kay!”

Cool, that was _completely_ fine, John _totally_ understood. He just needed a bit more time, that was all. Bruce was sure to deem him fit for duty soon!

That placation may have satiated him for the night, but it got a lot less comforting over the similarly disappointing nights that followed.

“So, can I come with you tonight?” he’d ask hopefully.

But every night Bruce would shut him down with a simple “No,” and John could do little but accept it with a shrill “Kay!” that only became more and more strained with each passing night he repeated the word back to his friend.

Argh! Why wouldn’t Bruce just let him come along? He would be good, he promised, and if Bruce really trusted him—no, that wasn’t fair, John had done more than enough to damage that bond of trust. He had to be patient – keep being patient. The problem was he’d never really been all that good at that.

 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Bruce to tire of their little back and forth as well.

Not even a week later as John lay on his bed, staring listlessly at the colourless ceiling of the otherwise beige bedroom, there was a knock on his door…which was kinda weird, considering it was open. He couldn’t really find the motivation to get up and greet his visitor – who was likely only here because John hadn’t found the motivation to go downstairs for breakfast either – but he did at least glance towards him.

Bruce was leaning into the room as if waiting for John’s go-ahead before coming in – like the place wasn’t his to begin with. The man must have noticed John’s gaze because he took a couple of steps into the room and asked, “Do you have any plans today?”

“I dunno, that all depends,” John replied, excitement jolting him up into a seated position, “Can I co–”

“No, and even if the answer was yes that would be tonight not today.”

“No idea then,” John muttered begrudgingly as he flopped back down onto the bed, “Probably just sit around and watch the TV, same as always. There was an interesting piece about you on yesterday – businessman you, not growling, caped you.”

“Oh, well, it was saying nice things, I hope.”

“Not really, but I’ve heard them say a lot worse.”

“Like what?” Bruce began with mild concern, but quickly digressed, “No, never mind, that’s not the point. So, you’re free today, then?”

“To do what?” John inquired, perking up with renewed interest.

Finally, he was going to be able to do something with Bruce that didn’t involve eating or watching him drive off into the night and leave John behind. John wasn’t going to be fighting crime alongside him, but spending some one-on-one time with Bruce was basically just as good if not better. Wow…that realization surprised him.

“Well, I noticed you haven’t done anything with your room,” Bruce replied, “It’s been a couple weeks now, so I sort of thought you would’ve at least put up a few photos or something. You’ve always added your own special…je ne sais quoi to the places you’ve lived.”

“It’s not mine though,” he responded with a jaded shrug, “This is your house – actually, your _manor_ – so I kinda figured you wouldn’t want me turning this room into another Ha-Hacienda – a Ha-Ha-Hacienda, if you will.”

In spite of his despondent mood, John couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up into at least half a smile at his own little joke.

“You are right, the manor is mine,” Bruce admitted, a soft smile shaping his lips, “but it’s also _your_ home now, John. And this room in particular is yours to do with what you will. You’re going to be here for a while, so I want you to feel comfortable, to make this your own space, a real home for you. Unless…you’re planning on leaving–”

“No!” John quickly assured him, “No, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“Great,” he responded cheerily, allowing himself an uncharacteristically unrestrained grin, “To that end, I was thinking we could spend the day shopping. A little retail therapy, as it were. We can pick out stuff for your room, or, more accurately, _you_ can pick out stuff for your room while I pick up the tab. Strangely, not that foreign a concept for me…”

“What’re we waiting for?” John exclaimed, visions of shopping montages taking hold of his mind’s eye and sending him vaulting from his bed to Bruce’s side in one swift motion, “Let’s get going!”

Even in his eagerness John faltered for a moment, blinking in surprise at the fondness of Bruce’s chuckle as he shook his head and led the way out of the room.

 

Riding in the Batmobile in its ordinary car disguise was about half as cool as being in its bat form, but half as cool as the Batmobile is still a thousand times cooler than any regular car! John was so busy fawning over the whole experience that he didn’t think to ask where they were going until Bruce stopped the car outside some pretentious looking art gallery.

Now, John knew better than to look a gift shopping spree in the mouth, but this really wasn’t where he expected them to go. Still, he kept his own mouth shut and followed Bruce out of the car and into the overly air-conditioned store.

Bruce gave John a minute or two to get a good look at the place before asking, “See anything you like?”

“Not yet,” John replied self-consciously.

Bruce clearly thought there must be something John would like at the gallery, why else would he take him here? But so far it was a lot of landscapes and realism pieces that bored John to tears. If he wanted to look at a farmhouse or a cliff or a river why wouldn’t he just look at a photo? What was the point?

Then, suddenly, there it was. The spotlight that illuminated the painting seemed to shine down directly from heaven just to highlight the pinnacle of artistic achievement that hung before them. John bounded over to the abstract impressionist piece immediately and quickly looked back and forth from Bruce to it to Bruce to it to Bruce to it to...

“This one looks just like you, Bruce!” he declared, giggling giddily.

“Does it?” Bruce questioned, cocking his eyebrow as he moved to John’s side and scanned the painting.

“Yeah, of course!” John said, completely perplex as to how Bruce could even question what was so clearly right in front of his face, “Don’t you see it?”

“ _Sure_ ,” Bruce replied in a tone that betrayed his uncertainty, “Do you want it?”

“I mean, why wouldn’t I?”

“All right, then just let me grab someone to go ring it up,” Bruce said, smiling at John – and giving the painting one last quizzical squint – before turning away to go in search of an employee.

Usually, one would think that to be an easy task seeing as employees are key facets of basically all stores, but they were a feature that this art gallery seemed to be completely deficient of.

John reached out and grabbed Bruce’s sleeve, effectively stopping him in his tracks, before whispering, “Couldn’t we, you know, just take it?”

Bruce’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly. They stayed like that for a few moments before Bruce gave his harshly whispered response.

“No, we cannot. I know you didn’t have any money before so you didn’t have much choice but to take what you could, but you don’t have to live like that anymore. I have more money than I know what to do with, so let me spend some of it on something nice for you, okay?”

“Okay,” John agreed reluctantly.

He didn’t have the heart to tell Bruce that he didn’t steal just because he had to. Sure, that was part of it – money was a bit scarce for someone with no employment or credit history who spent their entire known life in an asylum – but more than that it was _fun_. But John supposed he could have fun in other ways. Spending time with Bruce was fun, and the guy probably wasn’t going to want to keep doing that if John continued on the way he was. It was time to clean up his act, for real this time. He would prove that he could be an upstanding member of society and, more than that, a hero. He _had_ to; he’d already used up all of his get out of jail free cards.

John followed meekly behind Bruce as he located one of the hidden employees who directed them towards the checkout counter.

“Would you like to purchase a frame for that, sir?” she inquired with saccharine pleasantry.

Bruce glanced back at him questioningly, so John quickly jumped in with a “Yes, please!”

The clerk’s smile was somewhat more sincere than her tone as she ducked out of sight, under the desk, to grab a suitable frame.

“That reminds me,” John commented, “We should pick up a bunch of picture frames. I have so many photos I want to hang up! Some new ones too, I can show you when we get home!”

 _When we get home_. It surprised John how easily those words passed through his lips.

“Well, I’m sure they have more frames we could purchase–” Bruce suggested before John cut him off.

“No, not fancy frames! We could just go to the dollar store or something.”

“That’s ridiculous, John,” Bruce replied incredulously, “We’re not going to the dollar store. We don’t _need_ to go to the dollar store.”

“It just doesn’t feel right putting them in something like that,” John explained, gesturing towards the frame the shop lady had just pulled out onto the counter, “It’s not really my style.”

“Then why are we picking this one up in the first place?”

“It suits you,” John replied, grinning fondly, “So I figured it’d look nice around your face.”

“Whatever you say,” Bruce sighed before turning to pay for their items.

 

After the two of them stopped by a mid-range photography shop to pick up some picture frames – a compromise that Bruce suggested due to John’s insistence that he _really_ didn’t want anything swanky – Bruce drove them to a plant nursery. The place – which was convolutedly and delightfully named “Pamela Isley’s Isle of Plants” – looked almost overgrown, with plants bursting forth from every possible surface.

John had never had a plant before – never really had anything else relying on him to stay alive really, except maybe Bruce in a way. Maybe this was a test! Bruce was going to see if he could keep a plant alive, because if he could take care of a plant then he could be a good caretaker for Gotham! He couldn’t be sure if that was what was happening, but if it was then he should probably pick a plant that was difficult to take care of – like Gotham was – so he could impress Bruce. Or, or, maybe he should pick one that’s really easy to care for because then he’d basically be guaranteed a spot on the team. Or maybe Bruce was just trying to get him a plant so he could have something to liven up his room. John sighed. It was probably just that last one.

Bruce let him pick out whatever plant he wanted, which was a mistake because a) he knew nothing about plants and b) there were just so many pretty ones; how was he supposed to choose? After around fifteen minutes of indecision, a woman – presumably the store’s eponymous proprietor, Pamela – stepped in and directed him towards some nice looking, easy to care for plants.

One in particular caught John’s eye, though. It was a prickly looking cactus with long, hooked spines and a little crown of beautiful, bright pink flowers. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about the plant that just felt…right.

“What’s this one?” he asked, pointing down at the little spike ball.

“Mammillaria sheldonii,” the redheaded woman replied, “It requires full sun and very little water.”

“Mammilla shelley?” John laughed incredulously, “That’s quite the mouthful.”

“Mammillaria sheldonii,” she repeated, barely masking the exasperation in her voice, “Most people just call it Sheldon’s Pincushion.”

“Well this little guy is going to be John’s pincushion from now on!” he declared, grinning as he scooped up the plant and presented it to her, “If you would, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, gently grasping the pot and escorting it to the till.

Initially, John was relieved to finally be done with the plant selection process – they’d already wasted enough of their limited time here – but the woman wasn’t going to let them off so easily. She spent what must have been more than ten minutes explaining in excruciating detail how to give the plant – who John decided to henceforth call Pinchy – the best life possible; and, after _all_ that, she handed them a somehow even more detailed instruction sheet on how to care for Pinchy – and all his kind – and spent another few minutes adamantly insisting that they make sure to follow the instructions to the letter. John wasn’t sure what the lady was gonna do if they didn’t, but he was sure that he didn’t want to find out.

“That woman is _scary_ ,” John commented with a nervous giggle once they were safely settled in the car, Pinchy nestled in his lap, “I think she and Harley would _really_ get along!”

Bruce chuckled as he started up the car, and John suddenly realized that his was the first time he’d been able to say Harley’s name without feeling choked up at all. Maybe giving him time to himself really was doing John some good.

“Where to next?” he asked, eager to not linger on the subject.

“I thought you might like some sheets that are representative of your colourful personality,” Bruce replied – that phrase had been directed at John much more derisively in the past, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t an insult when it was coming from Bruce, “There’s this place we go to get all our sheets, I’m sure they have some that aren’t beige or pastel blue…”

Bruce trailed off, his eyebrows abruptly knitting together.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, worry seeping into his voice.

“Nothing really, it’s just,” Bruce trailed off again, abruptly looking a little embarrassed, “I realized I don’t actually know where we get our sheets from. Al does all of that sort of shopping, always has. I sometimes forget how much I rely on him.”

Bruce chuckled again, a bit more self-consciously this time.

“I’ll just call him and ask,” he determined, reaching forwards, hitting the green phone symbol, and clearly enunciating, “Call Alfred Pennyworth.”

The phone barely got halfway through its second ring before Alfred answered – gosh, that guy was so on the ball _all_ the time.

“Bruce, is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course, Al,” Bruce replied warmly, “I’m just out shopping, and I was wondering where we usually go to buy our bed sheets.”

“But we already have sheets,” Alfred responded in a baffled tone.

“They’re for John.”

John could swear he heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Of course they are, sir,” the butler replied acerbically.

“Hi, Al!” John chirped.

“Hello, Mister Doe.”

“You can call me John, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I _could–_ ”

“Anyways,” Bruce interjected, shooting John a stop-talking-right-now look, “I was wondering if you could direct me to that store?”

“Of course, Bruce,” Al affirmed, “Both our mattresses and sheets come from Morpheus Mattresses, and as I have no earthly idea where you are at the moment I assume the car can give you the proper directions.”

“Sounds great, thanks, Al,” Bruce replied, reaching for the red phone button.

“You never thought to buy _me_ sheets, sir,” Alfred teased sarcastically.

Assuming that the call was over, John decided to make a joke of his own.

“I can’t wait to break in those sheets,” he commented, giving his pal an exaggerated wink.

His words froze Bruce mid-movement, which brought attention to the fact that the man’s finger was still hovering an inch or so away from the hang-up button; it was only then that John realized he might’ve spoken just a bit too early.

“May I leave now, Bruce,” Al requested, his voice strained, “Please?”

“Yes, thanks—I mean, sorry, I…bye,” Bruce fumbled over his words before two beeps sounded, signaling the actual end of the call.

The two men sat in silence for a few moments, John staring at Bruce and Bruce staring at the steering wheel, until John finally spoke.

“Morpheus Mattresses?”

“Morpheus Mattresses,” Bruce confirmed, revving the engine and setting out towards their destination.

 

Picking out sheets wasn’t hard, as despite the store’s cool, Matrix-evoking name Morpheus Mattresses didn’t have a wide array of exciting colours to pick from. Bruce managed to spot a nice set of pear green sheets, however, so they didn’t walk away empty-handed.

As they arrived at their next destination – Home Depot, to pick out some paint that would better compliment his new sheets – John began to wonder exactly how long that list Bruce kept consulting on his phone actually was. He was pretty sure that, even though they had spent more than half the day shopping, they weren’t even halfway through the list.

Before they set out Bruce had asked him what sorts of things he wanted to decorate his room with; this was a question that John had many, _many_ answers for, like Christmas lights, a disco ball to reflect all the colours of the Christmas lights, books – an answer that seemed to surprise Bruce for some reason, even though John had had a modest collection of literature on display in his room with the Pact – a cork board to stick his ideas and stuff on, and John was sure he could’ve thought of more but he stopped himself there. He didn’t want to be too greedy – an unflattering flaw he knew he possessed – or make his room look overly cluttered. However, that being the case, Bruce must have added a heck of a lot of stuff to the list by himself for it to be so long. John wanted to take a peak so, so, so much, but he continued to resist that particular urge.

There must’ve been a reason that Bruce wasn’t just _showing_ him the list – maybe he wanted to surprise John, at least that’s sorta what John hoped it was – so he chose to not go looking for answers. He was enjoying himself and he really wanted to keep doing that. So he wasn’t going to ruin it. Not this time.

Picking out paint colours was not going quite as quickly or smoothly as choosing his sheets. As previously mentioned, there had been a quite limited selection of bedding to choose from, whereas his paint colour options seemed almost endless. He was pretty sure he wanted to paint it purple, probably a pale purple, ‘cause it’d look real nice with the green sheets and, to quote Bruce, it would be “very John.”

He turned back to face Bruce, ten paint swatches in hand, and noticed he was checking his watch – _again_. It was probably the fourth or fifth time. Not that John could blame him. They’d been here a couple hours now and the afternoon had already been waning when they’d arrived.

“We should head out, shouldn’t we?” he inquired sheepishly.

“Probably,” Bruce answered with obvious reluctance, “I need to get some rest before I have to go out again tonight.”

“Yeah, I figured,” John agreed remorsefully, “I’m sorry, Bruce. I took up so much of your time, and most of it was just spent deciding things!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce replied, looking at John with a warm expression, “I’ve had a really great time today, actually. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do normal people things _and_ it’s been a while since we’ve been able to spend any real time together. It’s nice to check both of those things off my to do list. Though, I expect I’ll be doing the latter more often in the near future. You won’t be stuck on the bench forever.”

_You won’t be stuck on the bench forever…_

John’s brain stuck on those words and took root…so the rest of the night was sort of a blur.

 

His brain was brusquely unstuck the next morning when he woke up to find an unsettlingly quiet visitor in his room. If John wasn’t so used to staying on constant guard in case of violent post lights-out visitors in Arkham he probably wouldn’t have woken up when Alfred entered his room.

“My apologies, Mister Doe,” the butler addressed him in a hushed, low tone, “I had no intention of waking you.”

“What are you doing here?” John asked directly, squinting at Alfred both out of suspicion and to ward off the sudden, unwanted influx of light.

“I wanted to change your sheets,” He replied, setting the subject of his answer down on the end of the bed, “I am still not quite used to anyone other than myself being in the house at this time. Bruce is usually on his way home, which means I don’t have to stick quite so attentively by his computer, so it is the perfect time to conduct my more typical butler duties.”

“Makes sense,” John mumbled, rubbing haphazardly at his bleary eyes, “Since you’re here already, you think you’ve got a sec?”

“More than one, even,” Al countered sarcastically, but he also offered John a sincere smile for the first time, so John couldn’t really hold his tone against him; well, maybe it was more like a smirk, but close enough.

“I just wanted to…apologize,” John explained, reminding himself _not_ to growl his words through his teeth even when he had trouble talking about a topic, “I didn’t mean for you to hear…the thing I said. It was a joke, but it kinda loses its comicalness without context.”

“Context?” Alfred probed, raising an eyebrow questioningly in much the same way that the man he raised often did.

They had a remarkable family resemblance given that they weren’t, you know, related.

“Yeah, if you were in the car you would’ve seen that I winked as I said it,” John clarified, “I thought Bruce had hung up, and if he had you wouldn’t have heard my joke without the proper context.”

“That context being a wink?”

“Yeah!”

For some reason Alfred seemed dumbfounded by John’s words. It took a moment for him to formulate a reply.

“Just how would a wink make your ‘joke’ any less suggestive?”

“Because…it makes it obvious that it’s a joke?” John responded hesitantly, blinking blankly up at him.

Al opened his mouth as if to reply but quickly shut it again, having seemingly decided against it.

“No apologies necessary,” he stated after several seconds of _deeply_ uncomfortable silence, “Enjoy a few more hours of rest, I will see you at breakfast.”

 

Although he tried to do as the butler suggested, John did not get any more rest that morning.

After thirty or so minutes of staring at the ceiling theorizing different jokes he could make that might finally elicit at least a chuckle from Alfred, he left the warm embrace of his bed for just long enough to grab the paint swatches he had brought home before diving back under the covers. He still wasn’t sure what colour to pick, but at least now that he was actually sitting in the room he could easily visualize how each one would look on the walls. And, thanks to Alfred, he even had the sheets to compare them to!

Even so, John couldn’t narrow it down to any less than five – no, wait, six – options. He was going to have to get an outside opinion, and who better to ask than his best bud, Bruce? The guy had to be home by now; it’d been around an hour since Alfred said he was on his way back. Might as well go investigate it – it’d be a relief to be investigating something again, no matter how mundane.

Six – ooh, no, that one looked so good too, let’s make that seven – paint swatches in hand, John padded softly out into the hallway. He turned to head towards Bruce’s room, but the unmistakable sound of the man’s voice coming from the opposite direction drew him away. Bruce’s voice wasn’t alone, though; it was joined by notably more sultry, feminine tones – a fact that stopped John inches away from the door to what he now realized was the cat lady’s bedroom.

“There’s always tomorrow, Bruce,” Selina said reassuringly, “And he didn’t manage to hurt anyone. Isn’t that your goal in all this?”

“No one was hurt _this time_ ,” Bruce replied, his tone clearly indicating he was too frustrated to be in the mood to pick out paint colours, “There’s no guarantee we’re going to catch the guy before he picks out his next target.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that now, and I wouldn’t worry about him striking again so soon. You know his patterns, he’s probably going to lay low for a while to be safe, don’t you think?”

“More than likely,” Bruce agreed with a sigh, “I suppose you’re right. Nothing we can do about it now. But I can’t help but feel like he wouldn’t have slipped through our fingers if we’d had an extra set of hands to grab him.”

“He’s not ready, Bruce.”

Selina’s words washed over John like an ice cold shower in the dead of winter. Who was she to say–

“But he’s never going to be ready unless you take the time to teach him.”

Oh…well, that wasn’t really the scathing indictment of his character that he was expecting.

“You need to talk to him about what happened,” she continued, “You can’t just put a bandage on the problem by going on a shopping spree.”

“That’s not why–” Bruce objected, a hint of embarrassment in his tone, “I’m not trying to put a band-aid over anything, Selina. I just want him to feel comfortable here, I want that for both of you. He and I already went over the code and what he should do on the job, and we can talk about the other stuff…later.”

“Just when is later, Bruce? He’s just sitting around _your_ house stewing for days on end, while you’re out fighting crime and crossing your fingers that he’ll just miraculously become the person you want him to be.”

For a moment there was silence. John couldn’t see either of them, but the tension was palpable even through the wall.

“John is already the person I want him to be,” Bruce seethed coolly – the kind of cold anger that was always _a lot_ more frightening than the red hot variety, “You might be right that he’s not ready or that I’m not going a good enough job at helping him be ready, but I don’t particularly appreciate the insinuation that I want to change who he is. John is a good person. He might need guidance, but at his core he wants to help people. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Selina snapped back.

There was another brief period of silence before Bruce replied, “Maybe I don’t.”

The sound of footsteps heading towards the slightly open door sent John scrambling behind a nearby buffet table. After he was sure Bruce had headed in the opposite direction, he peaked out from his now crouched position only to see the back of Bruce’s head as he began his descent down the stairs. John let out a sigh of relief perhaps a bit _too_ loudly.

“Do you want to come inside or were you just planning on eavesdropping?” Selina called out from inside her room.

Aw, crap.

John unfurled himself and slowly, _tentatively_ resisted the urge to bolt back into the safety of his bedroom and instead made his way into Catwoman’s room.

Her room was sparse and barren – no personal touches to add life to it, not even a single photo – like a hotel room more than a home. Either Selina was exceptionally and unexpectedly boring or she wasn’t planning on sticking around much longer…or maybe Bruce just hadn’t taken her shopping yet, it’s not like his room looked much different before yesterday’s outing.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Selina inquired caustically.

She was folding laundry, sorting each piece into almost neat piles on the bed. This was something she didn’t really have to do; Alfred clearly did all of Bruce’s laundry and had begun doing John’s too, which he only noticed when tidy little stacks of clothing began appearing on top of his dresser a week or so into his stay at the manor. So this must be the woman’s way of exerting some level of the independence she was clearly so used to.

“More of an audio experience than a show,” John replied, rubbing his arm anxiously.

“Well I hope you appreciate the bullet I’m taking for you,” she commented quite out of nowhere in John’s opinion, “Bruce can be so stubborn and emotionally stunted. A bad combination.”

She sighed, tossing a shirt onto the nearest pile.

“He really wants you to be part of his team. But he also _really_ doesn’t want to talk about all the shit you pulled. He knows it’d probably upset you—like that.”

She gestured towards John, who had involuntarily winced when she raised the topic of “all the shit he pulled.”

“He doesn’t seem to get that you’re going to be upset either way,” she continued, picking up a pair of black jeans, “Either he talks to you about what happened and you make a face like that or he doesn’t and you’re stuck here indefinitely, slowly wearing down until you crack again. I don’t think it’s too much of an assumption to suppose that you’d prefer the former.”

Although John didn’t appreciate her comment about him “cracking” again, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful for her help; so, he gave her an uneasy nod, his hand clenching ever tighter around his bicep.

“So, John,” Selina spoke carefully now, each word seeming calculated despite her casual demeanor, “I need to know what happened to inspire you to do what you did.”

John did his best to repress a sour expression, but from the look on Selina’s face he was doing a poor job of it.

“What for?” he asked resentfully.

“Because I need to know it won’t happen again,” Selina replied matter-of-factly, “So I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder to check on you once Bruce lets you off of probation.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” John sniped, his eyes narrowing and his gratitude dwindling, “It’s not like you’ll be hanging around here for very much longer.”

This comment seemed to make a dent in Selina’s armour – John was both surprised and pleased that something he said actually could – as she looked genuinely taken aback by his comment.

“You don’t like me, do you, John?” Selina asked more nonchalantly than one might expect for such a direct question.

“Not really, but I don’t dislike you either,” he replied reticently, pursing his lips.

“Well, you hide your lack of spite for me very well,” she remarked acerbically.

Spite?

He never said he didn’t feel _spite_ for her. That sentiment didn’t really come from his feelings about her as a person though, it stemmed more from her relationship with Bruce.

Bruce and Catwoman had such _chemistry_ . Still did, even now, in suit and out. John didn’t like it. How could he ever compete with that? They didn’t kiss, but John knew they definitely had before and _almost_ definitely still wanted to. The electricity between them was undeniable. And, more than that, Selina could offer Bruce something John couldn’t: experience.

John had never, well, _been_ with anyone. Not that he could remember anyways. There was this instinct in him – one he had felt a few times when he found those rare souls worth kissing in Arkham – that made him feel like maybe he’d gone a bit further than making out. But he couldn’t remember how far, no matter how many hours he spent meditating on the subject. John had flashes of his past, but none of them included sex.

There was an even bigger hitch, though. John had a tendency to fall hard and fast for people, but throughout all of his forays into romance he had never once daydreamed about going to bed with any of his partners – not in _that_ way, at least; he’d certainly daydreamed about cuddling or sleeping beside them, but that wasn’t really the same thing. It was just never something he was all that interested in. And, even if it had been, he didn’t feel ready for that right now – _no way_.

Shortly after John left Arkham, he had been overcome with the desire to figure out what the big deal was with this whole internet thing. So, during one of the rare occasions that Harley briefly left him alone in the funhouse he had ventured onto the computer that she kept stashed away in her room to watch some pornography – well, not just to do that, of course, but that was part of it – and all of it just made him feel…weird. Not aroused – despite his lack of interest in sexual activities with others, he knew what that felt like – just…weird.

He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling but – whatever  it was – it was certainly evidence that he wasn’t ready for _that_. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be. And…would that be enough for Bruce?

John didn’t want to give up the person who was _obviously_ his soul mate just because he wasn’t able to give Bruce what he wanted. And he _knew_ that was something Bruce wanted. Even if John had never clued in about Bruce’s history with Selina, the papers were very clear about the prolific nature of his sex life. Could he make Bruce happy without engaging in some afternoon delight? He couldn’t be sure, and he hated that haunting uncertainty.

But this was all just theoretical! He was getting ahead of himself. Bruce might not even be into men at all. John couldn’t understand why people restricted themselves like that, placed limitations on who they could and could not love. He had so many feelings he sometimes felt like they were going to burst out of his chest in a bloody, Alien-esque mess, so how was it possible that a person’s gender could stop someone from feeling that same, messy way about them?

What if that person met all their requirements? Had every quality they looked for in a partner? Was absolutely perfect for them? Why would their gender stand in the way of the love they could feel for each other? He just couldn’t understand it.

But he was pretty sure Bruce wasn’t like that. Batman was all about justice, equality, and all that, and how could he not reflect that true equality in his love life? John knew that he was probably – read: definitely – rationalizing to maintain his own peace of mind. He didn’t want to obsess over the possibility that maybe Bruce was _straight_. That would just crush him. Batman – Bruce – was better than that.

“In any case,” Selina broke the extended silence that lingered in the wake of her previous comment, “I will be around for the foreseeable future, and during that time I would like to feel safe in the knowledge that you’re not going to go crazy on us again and hurt Bruce.”

“I would never–” John retorted angrily, but stopped himself short of what, unfortunately, would have been a lie; he had undoubtedly hurt Bruce, in more ways than one, “I _will_ never hurt Bruce, you can rest assured of that.”

Selina nodded, seemingly satisfied, but there was a spark of something in her eye as she looked at him that he _did not_ like.

“Bruce is important to you, isn’t he?” she asked, fully setting her laundry down for the first time since the start of their conversation.

“Of course!” John affirmed sincerely, “Isn’t he important to you?”

“As much as anyone can be,” Selina replied, her casual tone contrasting with the intensity of her gaze.

Her eyes were trained on John’s ever move now in a way they hadn’t been before. It was deeply unsettling.

“We eat breakfast together every morning,” she continued, “Are you aware of that?”

“What sort of question is that?” he sputtered incredulously – of course he knew that!

“I only ask because I haven’t once seen you look in my direction during breakfast,” she explained, a smirk twisting her lips, “You only seem to have eyes for one person there.

She wasn’t wrong about that. John could admit that much. Most of his attention during meals was directed towards Bruce even more so than whatever morsel was on his plate at the time; which was saying something, because some of the food was objectively fantastic thanks to Alfred’s amazing cooking skills, but Bruce’s smile, his laugh, his conversation fulfilled John in a way that food – no matter how delicious – never could.

“I don’t need to look at you to know that you’re there,” John replied bitterly, “It’s kind of hard to miss you since you dominate so much of the conversation.”

“Self-awareness,” she stated simply.

“What?”

“Just something you should work on,” she responded, “because this feels like a very pot calling the kettle black sort of situation.”

“Noted,” John growled, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.

He just wanted this conversation to be over – because, at this point, John was _very_ over it.

Selina sighed, her carefully constructed guard dropping at least a single, tiny layer.

“We’ve gotten off track,” she acknowledged discontentedly, “This wasn’t supposed to be an attack on you as a person. I simply need to know that you’ll have my back so I don’t need to keep checking it for knives whenever you’re behind me.”

“I’m not going to _stab_ you,” John replied bewilderedly, “First of all, that would jeopardize the mission and, second, I don’t think Bruce would be very happy about be stabbing anyone, let alone _you_.”

“Hard to argue with your logic,” Selina commented in a – to John – puzzlingly scathing tone, “Although I wouldn’t overstate my ranking on Bruce’s priority list.”

“You don’t make any sense,” John grumbled, “I wish I could get Bruce to treat me the same as you. Heck, I’d even settle for him looking at me the same way!”

To John’s surprise, both of Selina’s eyebrows shot up and she briefly gave in to a bout of light laughter.

“Did I say something funny?” he questioned belligerently

“Self-awareness,” Selina repeated, almost all evidence of her previous mirth gone as she shrugged and turned back towards her laundry, “I would suggest trying to use the limited amount that you have to assess how much you truly mean to Bruce. You might be surprised by what you find.”

John wasn’t sure what to make of that, but, on the plus side, at least he could go join Bruce for breakfast now that they were finally finished exchanging unpleasantries.

 

Unfortunately, the hostile aura that had permeated both conversations was reignited once Selina joined the two of them at the dining room table. Both men had left their respective conversations with her on less than pleasant terms, but that didn’t seem to bother her any. She ate her breakfast in silence, save the compliments she gave to the chef when Al sat down at his seat beside Bruce. For his part, Bruce seemed to be giving Selina a tepid – if not cold – shoulder. It appeared that he had warmed slightly from his previous icy demeanor, a hint of remorse evident in his face. Bruce rarely stayed mad at anyone for long, regardless of who was in the wrong – a trait that John was ever grateful for.

Something John was _not_ grateful for, however, was how suddenly hyper-aware he was of how much he was talking. It suddenly felt like he was taking up _a lot_ of the airtime. He didn’t always talk so much, did he? That didn’t seem possible. But every time he spoke – or even just opened his mouth to speak – he couldn’t help but hear Selina’s voice in his head chiding him for his lack of self-awareness and for being a pot who calls the kettle black.

After a while of silently opening and closing his mouth like a fish, John noticed a small smirk growing on Selina’s face. She was watching him, delighting in his newfound self-consciousness. Around the seventeenth time that John opened his mouth to speak only to promptly stop himself Bruce finally took notice.

“Is everything all right, John?” he inquired sincerely, tilting his head with mild concern.

“Y-yeah, of course, buddy,” John replied unconvincingly, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason in particular,” Bruce answered, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You just seem…off.”

“Perfectly fine!” John squeaked even more unconvincingly; but Bruce either accepted his weak insistence at the truth or just decided to drop it, because he simply smiled slightly wider in response before turning back to his food.

John did not enjoy the I-told-you-so look Selina shot him once Bruce had turned away – more than that, it infuriated him – but he couldn’t bring himself to say or do anything to counter it. He detested admitting he was wrong – so he wasn’t going to – but he couldn’t deny that she was right.

John’s focus soon returned to the usual subject of his attention as he pondered the intricacies of the man’s face. Bruce looked more haggard than usual. Maybe last night really took a toll on him. He should probably ask Bruce about it later, when they had a more private setting. But given how tired Bruce looked he was probably just gonna crash right after he finished eating.

It suddenly occurred to John that last night might not have been the cause of Bruce’s evident exhaustion; it was probably the lack of sleep he got the day before – a lack of sleep he only experienced because of John. Guilt settled into his stomach as he gazed at the bags under Bruce’s eyes and the pallid tone of his skin.

John didn’t like to think about those few days of reckless, failed attempts at heroism, but some moments still stuck with him.

_“Your friendship has become so important to me, in some ways even more important than the mission…”_

Bruce had said those words – those words that meant so much to John – but John was just now realizing how that sentiment might extend to more mundane aspects of their lives.

If Bruce had prioritized the mission yesterday he would have brought them both home early and gotten the rest he needed for peak performance that night. John was going to have to keep an eye on that, to make sure Bruce got at least close to a proper amount of sleep.

Could Selina – or anyone, for that matter – really blame John for going along with Bruce’s plan though? It was really hard to say no to spending time with the guy! He was just so amazing, and caring, and witty, and smart, and–

John continued listing adjectives in his head for a minute or so before he got himself back on track.

The point was: spending time with Bruce was great. But John still hadn’t fully abandoned his previous plan for winning Bruce’s affection. Impress Batman first – prove how strategic, heroic, and capable John really was – then getting Bruce to like him would be easy! Well, not get him _like_ John – Bruce already liked him – what he really needed to do was show Bruce that he was the sort of partner the guy could count on to be there for him in every way that he needed.

It wasn’t good enough to just be a good friend to Bruce – Bruce had plenty of good friends, and only half of them turned into deranged killers, so there were still a few other contender’s for his affection – John needed to be a true teammate to Batman.

Bruce and Batman were two sides of the same coin – if John stayed on the sidelines, relegated to solely spending time with Bruce, then he was only getting fifty percent of him. And, admittedly, John was more than a little greedy.

The only _real_ way to be with Bruce was to get the whole package, to be party to both sides of his life. When Bruce couldn’t tell Tiffany that he was Batman it damaged their relationship. Same went for the commissioner; when the guy was gunning for Bruce Wayne a rift developed between them because Batman couldn’t just say, “No, don’t worry about him, because he’s me.” John knew that the only way to get what he wanted was to be part of both halves of Bruce’s life.

That was probably one of the reasons why he was so anxious for a starting position on Batman’s team.

John wanted to impress Batman as soon as possible so he could move on to the next steps of his meticulous plan – it wasn’t quite so thorough when he first formulated it, but the last few weeks had given him plenty of time to hash out the details. Even though John understood Bruce’s reasons for making him wait, he couldn’t help but feel impatient. After all, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. And the longer he was cooped up in the manor, fleshing out his increasingly complicated plan, the farther away that ideal life felt.

If Selina’s surreptitious attempt to push Bruce towards readying John for fieldwork actually worked he was going to have to write her a really nice thank you card – and he should probably stop fantasizing about all the less than pleasant ways he could get her out of the picture. John understood that his darker thoughts regarding her stemmed from his own – perhaps misplaced – jealousy, but until he could either win Bruce’s heart or scrub the image of their bodies tangled up together out of his brain he doubted those morbid fantasies were going to go away. Even so, he figured he should try to be nicer to her in the future.

If nothing else, Bruce would certainly appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who thought, “Huh, that line about John wanting his life with Bruce to start as soon as possible sounds awfully familiar,” yes, that is a quote from “When Harry Met Sally.” John gets a lot of his information from “the TV” after all, I kinda think that his feelings on love would be as heavily influenced by what he’s seen on television as his knowledge that cops are supposed to say “hands up” and not just start firing when they point guns at you.
> 
> Also, speaking of John and I have differing opinions on things, wow, could we not have more different views on art. I’m super into realism, so it kind of surprised me when I wrote that little blurb. I suppose John’s voice really does take over sometimes…
> 
> Sorry again for the delay, I promise to do my best to stay on schedule in the future. I really wish there was a way to tell you guys that I'm still going to post it, that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth, it's just that I'm ridiculously swamped and can't get the chapter ready in time. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll do my utmost to make sure I see you next week!


	7. Strange Habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of put this in the tags, but I just want to to be sure everyone is aware, so I’m putting a warning here for **mentioned** sex trafficking and pedophilia. I, uh, kind of wanted to make the worst dude imaginable for them to face off against and that shit is kind of the worst so…yeah. Regardless, I’m genuinely sorry if that creates an issue for anyone. I’m not going into any graphic detail or anything, so hopefully it won’t be too bad.

I've still got a bad need for  
Your barely there voice  
Telling me secrets  
In the quiet of the night  
  
For all the wrong reasons  
For all the wrong reasons  
Always in my head  
For all the wrong reasons  
For all the wrong reasons

July Talk – Strange Habit

 

“Testing, testing, one, two, three!”

“We can hear you, Joker,” Selina muttered exasperatedly, “and if you keep talking at that volume everyone else will be able to too!”

“Right, sorry!” John hissed at a marginally acceptable volume level.

Bruce sighed.

Their first mission as a team was getting off to a great start.

~

Several weeks had passed since his unpleasant and enlightening argument with Selina. She was right, he knew she was right, he just didn’t want to admit that maybe he was having some trouble trusting the man who kept calling Bruce his “best buddy” and looked up to Batman like he hung the moon. It seemed like he even looked at Bruce like that sometimes, but that couldn’t be right.

Even so, a couple weeks later he’d finally faced his fears and actually had “the talk” with John.

It was all unplanned, really. He came home after a particularly long and grueling evening to find John awake, watching television in one of the living rooms. Originally he hadn’t even been looking for John, but the sound of the television garnered enough of his curiosity to draw him in. The green haired man was watching an early news report on the events of the night before, his eyes glued to the television screen with such undivided interest that he didn’t seem to notice Bruce’s presence until he sat down on the couch beside him.

“Bruce!” he exclaimed with an exhausted mixture of surprise and delight, “I’m so glad to see you! You’re usually home _hours_ ago, so I was really starting to get worried.”

It was easy to deduce from his bloodshot eyes and the bags that hung under them that John probably hadn’t gotten much, if any, sleep last night. Probably watched one of the news reports detailing the horrific crimes committed by the guy that Bruce had accidentally let slip they were going after that evening and stayed up all night agonizing over Bruce’s wellbeing.

Bruce sighed. There was no denying it; he really needed to rectify this situation.

“I’m sorry, John,” he apologized sincerely, grabbing the remote and turning off the television, “I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” John replied, smiling hesitantly, “It’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s a fairly low bar to meet,” Bruce said regretfully, “I want better than the bare minimum for you. I want you to be happy, I really do, it’s just…difficult right now. Difficult to train you while also keeping an eye on the others, difficult to take you on the team, difficult to…to trust you in the first place.”

Bruce hated admitting that. Hated it so much that he felt sick to his stomach once he finally got the words out. But he wasn’t going to be a coward anymore. He had to actually address this.

“I want to start some training sessions with you every other day, if that’s okay with you,” he continued uneasily, “In exchange, you and I need to have a talk. Maybe several talks, I don’t know. Regardless, training you for the physical strain of vigilantism and the different strategies to use is not enough. We need to talk about what happened that made you do what you did before. Also…what _I_ did to push you towards that, so we can make sure that I never do it again.”

It was difficult to acknowledge that he had a hand in John’s sojourn over the edge, but Bruce knew that doing so was both honest and helpful in alleviating some of the weight from John’s shoulders. Easing any of that weight was definitely the right call. Bruce could tell the moment the words were out in the open, because John’s face, that moments ago had been pointed at the ground and twisted up in discomfort, softened significantly as it lifted up to face him with wide, impossibly innocent eyes.

“Okay, Bruce,” John whispered, his voice raw with emotion, “What do you want to know?”

~

“How many targets can you see?” Bruce asked, counting the ones in his line of sight.

At least four, maybe five on his side; it was difficult to tell since they kept pacing in and out of his sizeable blind spot. Situations like this were why it’s so nice to have friends you can share your hobbies with.

“Six on my side,” Selina replied from her position perched on the rafters across the room, “The _Toyman–_ ” she enunciated his name with a distinct layer of derision and disgust “–hasn’t made an appearance yet.”

“What kind of name is that, anyway?” John griped, grimacing by Bruce’s side.

Bruce had stipulated that he wanted to keep John close. He thought this would’ve displeased John, since it might seem like Bruce wanted to keep an eye on him – which was not entirely untrue – but John had surprised him by responding with a wide grin instead. Sometimes he truly did not understand that man.

For example, despite how much John wanted to distance himself from the unfortunate events with the Agency he still wore the same garish getup from before. “I spent a long time designing this outfit,” John told him an hour ago as they prepared for the night ahead, “I don’t want it to go to waste!” Thankfully it was dark enough up in the rafters that even the motley of colours adorning his body didn’t draw any attention.

“It’s not a threatening alias _at all_ ,” John continued, looking to Bruce for some kind of affirmation, “It just sounds stupid!”

“I think that might be the point,” Bruce explained, meeting John’s gaze, “It’s friendly, makes the kids trust him, even though he is the last person they should let their guard down around.”

“That’s fair,” John replied, only a hint of a pout gracing his painted lips.

“Still sounds stupid though,” Selina commented, an audible smile in her voice.

“Thank you!” John whisper-shouted, obviously happy to be vindicated.

Their chatter fell silent as a door slammed open somewhere out of sight.

“Do you–”

“Yep, got eyes on him,” Selina answered Bruce’s unfinished question, “He has two more guys along with him.”

Bruce put a finger to his cowl and his second set of eyes flickered into his vision. They had to use the small drone for this mission, as the space was too enclosed for the bulky one to go unnoticed. It still had a powerful camera despite its size though, one that revealed the full scope of the room.

Bruce’s more generous estimate had been correct. Five men, three of them visibly armed, on his side and, as of a moment ago, nine men, all but the Toyman himself carrying various automated weapons, on Selina’s.

Shit.

That was a lot more people than he was hoping to deal with on John’s first mission.

~

John didn’t need a lot of physical training to prepare him for the job. He was already pretty proficient in combat, his skills already saving Bruce’s ass on more than one occasion. Still, Bruce figured it would be worth doing a little sparring to get John back in the swing of things, at the very least.

Which was why the two of them were in Bruce’s gym. It was an expansive room outfitted with several exercise machines and fighting mats, though they were only going to utilize the latter of those today.

The first few hours had been spent teaching John the basics – remember to breathe, punch with your thumb outside of your first, use your opponent's momentum to your advantage, what areas _not_ to hit them in so that you don’t accidentally kill them, and so on. Now, they were going to put those teachings to the test.

John was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet like the protagonist of a boxing movie, the oversized sweats Bruce gave him hanging off his slight frame. They had to cinch the pants tighter than Bruce previously thought possible to ensure they didn’t slide off the man’s thin hips. Somehow, the silly bouncing combined with the ridiculously too big clothing only served to make John look more adorable than usual.

“What are you smiling about?” John asked, apparently oblivious to the goofy grin plastered on his own face.

“You’re just funny,” Bruce replied with a small shrug.

“But I’m not saying anything,” the pale man pouted.

“Well, you’re just that funny,” Bruce said, “Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

John nodded affirmatively before hopping towards him like a very aggressive rabbit. Bruce did his best to stifle his amusement as he dodged John’s blows with ease. His fighting style was a bit off, different to how Bruce had seen him battle in the past; it was slower, careful, more calculating – very unlike John. It showed, too. John’s eyebrows were furrowed, his jaw set in a hard line; he was clearly frustrated by his inability to land more than a blow or two on Bruce.

Bruce let this go on for a while before calling for a break. He grabbed the bottles of water he had brought along for each of them before turning back to face his would-be opponent.

“Do you know why you’re having such a hard time hitting me?” Bruce asked, tossing a bottle towards John.

“Because you’re Batman?” John grumbled weakly as he twisted off the bottle cap.

“No, because you’re telegraphing your attacks,” Bruce replied, “I always know what you’re going to do next, which is, admittedly, a very unusual situation when it comes to you.”

John paused, seeming to mull over Bruce’s words as he guzzled a little over half the bottle in one go.

“I guess that’s because I’m trying _not_ to hurt you,” he remarked with a shrug, “So, I have to think about what I’m doing. That wasn’t a problem with anyone we fought before, I can promise you that!”

For a few seconds he let out a cackle that quickly dwindled to an awkward cough at the sight of Bruce’s less than amused expression.

“Well, it should be a problem for those we’re fighting in the future, although probably to a lesser degree,” Bruce stated, “And you don’t need to worry about hurting me, John. The point of practicing combat like this is to actually simulate what combat would be like. So, it’s less effective if you’re holding back.”

“You really want me to not hold back?” John asked, setting his water bottle down near the edge of the room.

“Give me all you got,” Bruce answered, grinning cockily and assuming a defensive stance.

John chuckled and shook his head as he approached, his demeanor completely casual until he suddenly lunged at Bruce. It was all Bruce could do to jump out of the way from this swift, unexpected attack.

“All right, I didn’t see that one coming,” he commented before pulling his arms up in front of his chest to block another blow.

John’s attacks were sloppy and unrefined, but that served as more of a benefit than Bruce would’ve assumed. He had trouble keeping up with John’s movements; his blows landed fast and hard, and Bruce only realized where each hit was going to connect a fraction of a second before it found its mark. It didn’t give Bruce a lot of time to think of a counter attack, which, at first, that relegated him to maintaining the same defensive stance. However, after he got a bit more used to John’s erratic attacks, which were starting to slow down almost imperceptibly as the man’s stamina slowly drained away, Bruce took the second or two between blows to consider the best plan of attack.

After one particularly strong blow, Bruce seized the opportunity provided by John’s slightly extended recoil to duck under the next incoming swing and sweep the man’s long legs out from under him. Thankfully that move worked better on him than it had on Bane. John toppled sideways onto the ground with a loud, “Oof.”

“That was pretty good,” Bruce said, smiling down at his friend and extending a hand to help him up, “You really had me on my toes. I know it sounds cliché, but if you want to outmaneuver your opponent you have to expect the unexpected—unh!”

John snickered as Bruce fell down onto one knee beside him, clutching his freshly punched groin.

“Good advice,” John observed, grinning wickedly as he pushed himself up into a seated position, “Might want to follow it yourself.”

“Touché,” Bruce groaned breathlessly, giving in to the humour of the situation with a quiet chuckle, “Not sure why more people don’t try that move.”

“It wouldn’t have worked if you were in your suit,” John replied knowledgeably, “So, I’ll keep that in mind in case we come up against anyone similarly armoured. It’s a good last resort otherwise though, I highly recommend it.”

John clambered up to his feet and extended his own hand down towards Bruce. Bruce looked down to hide a smirk. How could he pass up such an easily esploitable opportunity?

Bruce took John’s hand with a friendly smile before taking advantage of his partner’s unsuspecting nature – when it came to Bruce, at least – to gain the upper hand. He used his free hand to reach around John’s leg and buckle his knee out from under him; with the hand that still maintained a firm grip on John’s, Bruce pulled the man down to the floor; then, using his free leg, he launched forward onto John, pinning him to the mat by his wrists.

“Who’s laughing now, Joker?” Bruce remarked with a confident grin.

John smiled back at him but there was something…peculiar about it. His lips slightly parted, his eyes wide and darting back and forth between Bruce’s, his heart beating hard enough for Bruce to feel it against his chest…

Bruce had put off analyzing John’s more confounding comments and expressions until well-rested Bruce could deal with them. The thing was, he had gotten a lot more sleep as of late. He no longer had that excuse.

“Bruce,” John murmured, the tenderness in his tone sending Bruce’s own heart into overdrive, “I–”

“Am I interrupting something?” a familiar, feminine voice queried smugly.

Both men turned their attention towards Selina, who was peering down at them from her vantage point, leaned against the doorframe.

“I’d tell you to get a room, but, well, it is _your_ house,” she commented with a sly smile.

“Oh fuck off,” Bruce muttered, pushing himself off of John and genuinely helping him to his feet.

“Can’t,” she replied, “Alfred sent me to fetch you two. You were supposed to show up for dinner a half hour ago. Food’s getting cold and Alfred’s getting a little concerned, so I volunteered for the rescue mission. I suppose I can understand why you’d lose track of time though, considering…”

Bruce resisted the urge to tell her to fuck off again, instead saying, “Thank you, Selina. Tell Al we’ll be there shortly.”

“And what reason should I give him for your tardiness?” she inquired, her smile transitioning to a full-on smirk.

“The truth,” Bruce replied, frustration etched into every line of his face, “Sparring, lost track of time. Give him my apologies.”

“As you wish,” she said, winking back at them as she took her leave.

“Sorry about that,” Bruce turned back to John, who was shifting uncomfortably, his right hand in a vice grip around his left arm, “I didn’t think we had been here that long. I suppose time really does fly…”

When you’re having a little too much fun.

Bruce steamrolled over that thought and continued full speed ahead.

“We can get to the Batarang throwing lessons next time, all right? Though, you’re already pretty great at them. Sort of a natural, to be quite honest.”

“Thanks, Bruce, but there’s nothing natural about it,” John replied, a small smile on his face and a faint flush adorning his high cheekbones, “Just lot’s of practice.”

“Well, I’m glad you already have a grasp on the most important tenet of mastering any skill,” Bruce smiled back at him, fighting the urge to clap a fraternal hand on John’s back or sling an arm around his shoulder. The idea of touching John felt suddenly fraught with too many implications. Implications only complicated by John’s murmured, aborted sentence; a sentence Bruce didn’t want to analyze too closely at the moment, regardless of his lack of excuse not to.

Bruce was jostled out of his thoughts by John’s hand slapping his back encouragingly.

“I’m pretty hungry, actually, so the timing works out,” John commented, starting off towards the dining room ahead of Bruce, “I hope we’re having that fancy pastry thing again. You know, the one we had last week? I’ve been dreaming about it for days!”

Bruce smiled at the back of John’s head as he followed him out of the gym. Maybe he didn’t have anything to be concerned about. John was acting like nothing had happened, like everything was normal. He clearly didn’t have any qualms about touching Bruce. Perhaps Bruce had simply been projecting; projecting what, he wasn’t sure, but – again – he wasn’t going to think about that right now. It could wait.

~

“Wait,” Bruce instructed firmly, holding his arm out to keep John in place.

John hadn’t suggested that he was about to drop down from the rafters, but he didn’t really need to. Bruce knew he wanted to; the man was all but vibrating in anticipation beside him, clearly eager to dive into the action. It wasn’t time yet, though. They needed to locate all of the “assets” these scum had brought along for the Toyman. Those assets, in this case, being children.

The Toyman had eluded Batman and his team several times, with each successful evasion more frustrating than the last. Batman couldn’t even intimidate information out of the creep’s henchman, because he told them nothing about himself; not even his name. The complete absence of information on the Toyman’s true identity was a significant hurdle in their efforts to catch him that Bruce had yet been able to surmount.

About a month ago the Toyman had escaped capture, slickly evading Batman and Catwoman, and at the time Bruce said that having another ally around to assist with the capture would’ve secured their victory. Now it was time to put that theory to the test.

Bruce switched his visor back to the drone’s eye view. The tiny machine was quietly buzzing around the perimeter of the room, trying to find where they stashed the kids. It had just finished a full sweep of the place when a door swung open. In walked two more armed men with ten children in tow. Damn. They must have been keeping them outside in a van or something. The three of them had thoroughly scouted the surrounding area but hadn’t come across anything large enough to contain that many children. Probably arrived afterwards, once they had already gone inside.

This put his team at a disadvantage he had hoped to avoid but came prepared for nonetheless.

He motioned for John to follow him and crept as quickly as possible over to the entrance the children were being led in through. The arriving group was still out of sight of their cohorts, but Bruce knew they didn’t have long before that benefit was lost to them as well.

“Selina, wait for my signal.”

“Of course,” she replied, “I wasn’t really planning on jumping into a group of fourteen heavily armed goons by myself. I’m pretty sure that would eat up the remnants of my nine lives.”

With time running out to catch the new arrivals off-guard, Bruce tugged on the front of John’s shirt before swooping down on the group below.

“What the–” was all the first guy managed to say before Batman landed on him.

“We’ve got company!” the second one shouted, raising his gun towards his dark assailant.

However, he didn’t have much of a chance to talk either as John soon joined them, swinging around by his grappling hook and kicking the gun out of the man’s hand before swiftly landing another kick to his head. Unsurprisingly, he was out cold before he hit the ground. It was unfortunate that they had alerted the remaining targets, but at least the kids were safe.

Or so he thought until John’s eyes went wide and he dove forward into the crowd of kids, pushing them out of the way of the impending gunfire coming from behind Bruce. Batman pulled his cape up just in time to block most of the bullets, effectively covering the huddling mass of children.

The barrage of bullets didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, though. His cape could only take so much; he needed to create some sort of distraction. Unfortunately, the sheer number of children he had to shield necessitated both sides of his capes, so his hands were rather preoccupied at the moment. He had to get these kids out of here. Maybe he could herd them towards the door while blocking the bullets…

“Oww,” John moaned, grimacing as he glanced down at his arm.

Bruce followed his gaze and saw a fresh would glistening under the fluorescent light. Rather than dwell on it, though, John began rummaging around on his tool belt until he found whatever he was looking for and threw it under Batman’s cape towards the gunmen. A cloud of purple smoke rose between the opposing sides, obscuring them from view.

Bruce was actually rather impressed. Not only had John risked his life to save someone else’s, he also ignored his injury and kept fighting. Just like Batman would have done. Nice to see he was picking up a thing or two from their talks.

The smoke bomb was also some nice quick thinking, as it provided a perfect distraction for their ace in the hole.

“Now,” Bruce instructed, glancing back towards Selina.

Catwoman gave a wink before flipping out of sight.

The rest of the fight went down faster than expected.

John gave Bruce a _look_ , so he gave in with a nod and allowed him to jump into the fray while Bruce quickly escorted the children to safety. He figured those two could manage for the few minutes it would take for him to bring the kids into an adjacent room. By the time he returned Joker and Catwoman seemed to have the situation largely under control. Most of the gunmen were unconscious on the ground, Selina was taking care of the stragglers, and John had the Toyman himself pinned up against a wall. Apparently the team already functioned great without his constant supervision, which was a pleasant surprise.

He started towards them as Selina’s whip yanked the last goon to the ground with a resounding thunk.

“You certainly wrapped this up quick,” he noted.

“Yeah, your protégé was actually pretty good,” she said loud enough for John to hear, though her mischievous expression was clearly meant for Bruce, “You guys must’ve actually gotten some practicing done between all the fooling around.”

Before Bruce could tell her to fuck off again, their attention was diverted by a pained cry coming from John’s direction.

John still had the Toyman pinned against the wall, but now he was quite literally pinned to it by the Jokerang pierced through his wrist.

“Fuck! ” the man yelled, “What are you, some kind of sadist?!”

“Sure, this hurts, but you know what _really_ hurts?” John seethed through gritted teeth, “Getting shot!”

“Joker!” Batman barked, causing John to shrink back from his prey; Bruce gestured for John to follow him before turning to Selina and requesting, “Can you keep an eye on the Toyman?”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere like that,” she replied, cocking a critical eyebrow at John as he approached.

Bruce didn’t want to have this conversation in front of anyone, let alone a child trafficking pedophile, so he led John out a side door that, unsurprisingly, exited onto a barely lit back alley. Those certainly weren’t in short supply in Gotham.

“What’s up?” John asked, smiling despite his audible anxiety.

“Are you _really_ asking that question?” Bruce retorted, crossing his arms disapprovingly.

“Kinda,” John responded meekly, “I’d rather know exactly what you’re upset about, so my apology doesn’t seem insincere.”

Bruce decided to skip right on by John’s accidental implication that even with context his apology would be insincere but just wouldn’t _seem_ that way.

“You can’t just stab someone through their wrist,” he elucidated sternly, “You could have hit his artery.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry,” John replied hurriedly but, at least _seemingly_ , sincerely.

“Hand wounds are very painful and a bitch to heal,” Bruce explained, “So if you’re wanting to intimidate someone without potentially mortally wounding them then–”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his thought before the unmistakable sound of gunshots rang out from inside the warehouse. Neither man needed to exchange words, they simply ran straight back the way they came, bursting through the door with a loud crash that probably went unheard by the people engaged in the scuffle in front of them.

In the brief time the two had been gone four more men had stormed in and tried to take down Catwoman. God knows where this seemingly endless hoard of lackeys was spontaneously materializing from. Bruce didn’t have enough time to think about it before he leaped into the fray, using his new grapple takedown to knock two men out of commission simultaneously. Selina was already in the process of knocking one out and a flurry of green hair and fists took care of the one preparing to take a shot at her. Once again, the fight was over before it had really begun.

It was nice, efficient. He certainly wasn’t going to miss having to do it all by himself.

“Thanks,” Selina told John, taking a deep breath, “I had it under control…but I appreciate the help nonetheless.”

“That’s what partners are for, right?” John replied proudly, “Now, we should probably grab the kids and the jerk and get out of here before more guys randomly pop in.”

John froze, his happy expression immediately sapped away as he stared over Selina’s shoulder. Following his gaze, Bruce noticed that where there was once one of the most amoral criminals he had ever faced there was now merely a small bloodstain surrounding a small indent in the wall.

“Where is he?” John asked slowly, his eyes seemingly transfixed to the spot the Toyman should have been.

Selina’s confused expression turned to shock when she looked behind her to see what had them so dismayed.

“Shit,” she muttered, running over to where the Jokerang now lay o the ground.

Bruce headed straight out the door, following the faint trail of blood down an alley and around a corner until it stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. There was an empty space, big enough to fit a car, sandwiched between two large, white, nondescript vans. Well, at least he knew where they parked their vehicles. The vans that the Toyman left behind would be good evidence in the case against him, if Bruce ever managed to catch that son of a bitch.

After alerting the GCPD to the situation, he walked back to the warehouse, sullen in his repeated defeat, only to be greeted by the shouts of two equally happy people.

“I didn’t just _let him get away_ ,” Selina jeered in response to an accusation Bruce had blissfully missed in his absence, “Would you prefer I got shot in the back in the name of never taking my eyes off him?”

“You know what?” John retorted furiously, his entire body – from his shoulders, to his fists, to his knees – tightening like a spring.

Then, surprisingly, John simply stopped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before giving his response.

“You’re right,” he admitted, though it seemed to pain him to do so, “You were doing your best. I can’t expect you to do everything at once. It would certainly be nice _if you could_ –” his voice reached a fever pitch again before sloping back down “–but Doctor Leland would say that that’s an unreasonable expectation. We were supposed to be there and we weren’t. My fault, I guess.”

He sighed, slumping back against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

“GCPD are on the way,” Bruce announced, his unexpected presence sending a jolt of surprise through both his friends, “We should go check on the kids and make sure they’re safely delivered to the police before we go.”

“I’ll go,” Selina volunteered, clearly eager for a chance to escape this unpleasant conversation.

John hung his head and coiled his arms around his curled up knees, staying silent even as the door swung closed behind Selina.

Bruce cursed under his breath, his hands balling into fists. Maybe if they had brought Tiffany along, maybe if they had an extra set of eyes on the Toyman…but that’s what he thought last time, wasn’t it? He couldn’t keep using that excuse forever.

~

“What do you mean?”

Tiffany looked up at Bruce, wide eyed and crushed. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to turn down her help. Especially since he had seen how hard she worked on her new and improved suit. She actually looked like a proper crime fighter now. She spent hours perfecting her identity concealing mask, proper voice modulator, as well as a bullet and stab resistant suit that was still light and flexible. He was going to have to ask her to work on one of those for John, although Bruce wasn’t sure how difficult it was going to be to convince him to wear it.

Fuck, why was his mind drifting to John again when he should be focusing on the far more stable and promising protégé in front of him. Oh, right, because John was the reason he was turning her away tonight.

It was right before John’s first mission and Bruce wasn’t quite sure how it was going to go. He had taken Tiffany out with him several times, both with Selina and as a duo, and each time she managed to impress him with her progress. She’d be better than him in no time. _But_ she still wasn’t there yet. Despite her talents, Tiffany was green. Bruce still felt the need to keep an eye on her, even if it was mostly just to make sure she was safe.

However, he couldn’t really do that with John around. This was John’s first mission; it had to go as smoothly as possible. Bruce wasn’t certain he could ensure that outcome if he had to split his attention between his two fledglings. Selina was a pro, he didn’t have to worry about her. If anything, her presence as a secondary mentor had been a genuine boon on their missions with Tiffany. Hopefully it would prove the same tonight.

Despite his legitimate concerns, it still felt horrible to tell Tiffany she couldn’t come.

“Not with him, not yet,” Bruce explained regretfully, “One day, I promise, but I need to be able to give you my full attention and John isn’t ready to go out without training wheels yet.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the hurt in Tiffany’s face as she set her costume down on the table.

“You understand, don’t you?” Bruce entreated her, a small frown forming on his face.

“Yeah…yeah, of course,” she replied with a sigh, “One day, though…you promise?”

“I promise.”

~

Despite the failure of John’s maiden mission, Bruce took him back on the streets the very next night. The Batsignal shone against the clouds and Batman never missed the call if he was able. Selina had declined to come out with them, however. Too tired, she said. Bruce felt like something else was going on but he didn’t really have time to press the issue.

Gordon was leaning against a wall when they arrived, but he came over to the light to greet them.

“Waiting seems a lot longer without a cigarette,” he commented, clearly frowning beneath his mustache.

Batman remained stoically silent, as usual, despite Bruce’s amusement. John, however, maintained no such boundaries.

“Not like we left you waiting long,” he said, much to Gordon’s obvious annoyance.

Bruce shot him a look that made him disengage, retreating from the spotlight.

“I’m assuming you need something,” Batman stated, redirecting the conversation back on track.

“Yeah, had some information for you,” the commissioner explained, “Even though you didn’t catch that scumbag Toyman, you and your friends did some good work last night, Batman. Although, you left before we had a chance to talk.”

“Yes, I had…” Bruce glanced back at John, “ _things_ I needed to take care of.”

The small man shrunk even smaller beside him.

“Right,” Jim briefly followed his gaze with a quizzical eyebrow before returning his attention to Batman, “In any case, I called you here because I thought you should know that we’ve got a new lead. The Toyman’s name.”

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. It was too good to be true.

“You really think we couldn’t figure that one out?” John jabbed defensively.

Bruce swung his head around to stare incredulously at the man. What the fuck was he doing?

“I appreciate it, Jim,” Bruce supplied hurriedly, turning back to face him, “Your help is invaluable.”

“It’s no trouble on my end,” he shrugged, handing Batman a file from his jacket pocket.

“Yeah, ‘cause all you have to do is turn on a light and stand on a roof,” John muttered bitterly.

Bruce gripped the file a bit too tightly. Keep it inside, Bruce.

“Winslow Schott,” Gordon continued, apparently ignoring John at this point, “We checked his home, it’s been vacant for a while now. I figured you might be able to piece together his location from the information in that file.”

“This is a significant help,” Bruce stated, flipping through the pages.

“Just one of the benefits of _real_ police work,” Gordon remarked, looking pointedly at Joker.

“Thank you, Jim,” Bruce said apologetically.

“Thank me when you catch the guy,” Gordon replied, nodding curtly before heading back inside.

The moment the door closed behind the commissioner, John sprung back to life – suddenly his usual, exuberant self.

“Can I see?” he chirped, pushing himself onto his tiptoes to peer over Bruce’s shoulder.

“In a minute,” Bruce responded, “I’m almost finished scanning the files to the Batcomputer.”

“ _Oh cool!_ ” John enthused, his eyes alight with a glee that Bruce was pretty sure he was going to snuff out the second he had a chance to talk about what the hell just happened.

“I think I have a lead, Bruce,” Al’s voice rang across their earpieces, “If you wouldn’t mind giving me a few moments I can investigate it myself and probably save you the trip back home.”

“Thanks, Al,” he replied, “Talk to you soon.”

Bruce gestured for John to follow him, leading the way down to the back alley where he had parked the Batmobile. John strode towards the car without a care in the world until Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around to face him.

“What the hell were you doing back there?” Bruce interrogated.

“Nothing,” John muttered defensively, sharply shirking Bruce’s grip, “He was just acting all high and mighty, like the cops ever get anything done around here.”

“They must get something done if they’re able to find information we’re not,” Bruce retorted, “You can’t treat Gordon like that.”

“Why not?” he asked belligerently.

“Because without a good relationship with the police we can’t do our job. If they don’t like what we’re doing they can just arrest us, John. Technically, we _are_ breaking the law.”

“Fine, fine,” John griped, “I’ll be nicer to Gordon too.”

Bruce couldn’t help but fixate on that last statement as John retreated into the car.

What did he mean by too?

~

“You shouldn’t let him get away with shit like that, Bruce,” Selina snapped, slamming the door to the lounge behind them to keep out unwanted visitors, such as the subject of their conversation.

Bruce understood why she was upset. Tensions were always high after a mission went south. He need look no further than that spat the two of them had after one of their previous failed attempts to capture the Toyman for evidence of that. However, he couldn’t help but feel the need to defend John. It was his first time back on the job after, well, _everything_ ; if they were being honest with themselves, how could either of them have expected him to behave perfectly?

“He’s never going to learn if you don’t set proper boundaries,” she continued, “You said you were going to talk to him.”

“I did talk to him,” Bruce replied, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, “We talked about the code, more than once, I guess he just missed some of the finer details.”

Part of him was just happy John hadn’t killed anyone or gone into a stabbing frenzy like he had with Bane.

“You made your code very clear to me,” Selina stated, her voice already significantly calmer than it had been during her initial accusation, “If you explained it the same way I’m not sure how he could have missed the whole ‘don’t unnecessarily brutalize people’ segment. So, I am left to believe that he understood the code perfectly fine, and simply decided to ignore it. If I pulled the same sort of shit that he just did you’d have my hide! Why aren’t you as firm with him?”

“I am firm.”

“As firm?”

Bruce didn’t answer, his teeth clenched together tightly.

“Exactly,” Selina sighed, leaning back against the pool table, “I know you’ve got a soft spot for him, but you can’t just let him do whatever he wants.”

Bruce decided not to bring up that he definitely did not let John get away with _everything_ he wanted to do. The image of John surrounded by bodies was still burned into his brain. He’d never let that happen again. But Selina was right. By not laying down the law he ran the risk of letting John slip back into the dangerous version of himself that lurked beneath his consciousness. Bruce did not want to bring himself even one step closer to that potentiality.

“The kid, I like,” Selina remarked, clearly referring to Tiffany, “She’s reliable, and I can always trust her to have my back on a mission. The kid in a man’s body, not so much.”

“He has our backs,” Bruce said unquestioningly.

“No, he has _your_ back,” Selina countered firmly, “Not _ours_. If it was a choice between preventing you from stubbing your toe and stopping a guy from putting a bullet in my brain I’m pretty sure he’d choose the former.”

“I think the fact that he saved your life today proves that’s an exaggeration.”

“Perhaps, but hardly.”

“I’ll have another talk with him tomorrow,” Bruce avowed, ignoring her flagrantly ridiculous suggestion, “I thought we should take the night off to recuperate, as long as no one calls for us. Does that satisfy you?”

“Oh Bruce, you know it takes more than that to satisfy me,” she purred flirtatiously.

“But, in the end, the rewards are so worth it,” he replied equally, if not more, suggestively.

Smiling, she moved towards Bruce, stopping just short of touching him but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body against his.

“Why don’t we work the rest of this out upstairs?” she asked, delicately walking her fingers up his chest.

“Yes, why don’t we?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow as he stared intently down at her.

After a few seconds Selina’s flirtatious façade fell away, leaving her with a significantly sourer expression.

“No fair, calling my bluff,” she griped, pushing herself away from him.

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read,” Bruce laughed as she headed for the door.

“This is why you should never stay in one place too long,” she declared, shooting him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder.

~

“Just how long are we planning on waiting around out here?” John asked, frowning over at Bruce.

He was never the most patient guy.

Within the half hour Al had gotten back to them with the address of an apartment paid for by a shell company linked to Schott’s on-paper employer. It was a tenuous link, but it was the best lead they had at the moment. And, if their hypothesis was correct, it was a relatively smart way to discreetly rent out an apartment. Not discreet enough that Alfred couldn’t figure it out, but Bruce had to give the Toyman credit for trying.

He and John arrived at Schott’s potential residence – a dingy apartment on the outskirts of downtown Gotham – probably less than a minute before John voiced his impatient complaint. The information that the drone gathered from checking all the windows while he and John waited on an adjacent rooftop made it clear that the place was vacant, for the moment. Obviously lived in, though. Hopefully Schott had just gone around the corner to pick up a few things, it would certainly make their lives easier, but Bruce was ready to wait as long as it took for this monster to come home; they couldn’t let him escape again.

“Until Schott returns home,” Bruce told John, crouching down on the edge of the roof.

“Why don’t we bust in there right now?” he replied, mimicking Batman’s movements, “Wouldn’t it be easier to take him by surprise if we’re already in his place when he gets home?”

“A guy like that probably has silent alarms, maybe even cameras set up to watch for unexpected visitors,” Bruce explained, “We don’t want to accidentally tip him off, then he’d never show. He’d be in the wind before we could figure out which way it was blowing.”

“Makes sense,” John conceded with a brief nod, “So, we just wait here then?”

“Better to catch him off guard when he’s just coming through the door,” Bruce replied, “Putting down his keys, taking off his jacket, people are always more vulnerable during transitional periods like that. We want to strike when he least expects it, as that provides the best chance of success, right?”

“Right. Sounds like a plan.”

A silence fell over the two men for a good long while after that. Bruce wasn’t sure when Schott would be home – could be ten minutes, could be ten hours – so he and John probably had a lot of time on their hands. He glanced fleetingly over at his friend before returning his attention to Schott’s apartment…his visual attention, anyways. His mental attention couldn’t be farther from the task at hand.

Aside from their one-on-one training, Bruce and John didn’t enjoy a huge amount of alone time nowadays. John needed a lot more sleep than he did, which basically just meant a regular human amount of sleep seeing as Bruce had rigorously trained himself to only need four hours a day. Regardless, John’s sleep schedule cut into their potential time together. Then, when he was awake, there were meals and training and occasionally Bruce had to actually go to “work” at Wayne Enterprises, so their shared free time was pretty limited.

So, Bruce couldn’t help but think that times like this, when it was just the two of them alone on a random rooftop in Gotham with nothing to do but wait, were basically the only moments the two of them could really talk about things. Not that he really _wanted_ to talk about “things,” which in this case meant whatever it was that John was about to say when he was pinned underneath Bruce. However, he didn’t have a reason not to ask aside from his own inability to get in touch with his emotions.

Bruce was able to let people into his life nowadays; in fact, he enjoyed doing so. Now that Tiffany, Selina, and John were a part of his life he was a lot happier. But there was a limit – always a limit – to how much he was willing to let them in. He trusted all of them without question, and even though each one of them had allowed themselves to be vulnerable around him – crying, bleeding, confessing their deepest, darkest emotions – he always had trouble doing the same with them. Or, more than that, Bruce sometimes found it difficult to figure out who _he_ was under all the layers of façade he felt forced to put on every day like one of his perfectly tailored suits.

At the café he told John he was someone different every day. Sometimes he liked that person, other times not so much. But John always seemed to like who he was, regardless of the version he presented himself as; the man could see through every mask Bruce wore, break down every wall he built, and look at his very core. So, he was admittedly more than a little afraid to find out what John had been about to tell him.

Even so, Bruce couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head. Every time his mind had a moment to go blank it instead materialized the image of John’s parted lips, his searching eyes, the way that single wisp of hair that always hung separate from the rest fell back, leaving his face completely bare. He kept hearing John gently murmur his name; Bruce never thought his name could sound so charged with meaning. What that meaning was he desperately yearned to know. So, why wasn’t he asking? Why couldn’t he just talk to John about shit like this? Why couldn’t he just open up for once in his fucking life–

“Hey, Bruce?”

John’s voice was unusually soft, barely audible over the sounds of the city. Bruce looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking back. His gaze was still fixed on the apartment below, though void of its usual intensity when it came to tracking down “bad guys” like this.

“Do you ever wish…” he trailed off for several seconds before finishing his thought, “Do you ever wish that you could’ve had a normal life? Like, growing up with parents who love you, going to school, having a family…the sort of life everyone seems to have on sitcoms.”

Bruce didn’t really require any time to consider the question; he already knew the answer.

“Sometimes, but not as often as I used to,” he replied softly, “Why do you ask, John?”

“I dunno,” John murmured, “I guess I’ve just been thinking about the future a lot lately. What I want to do…who I want to do it with.”

Bruce’s chest tightened.

“You planning on going somewhere?” he inquired.

“Huh? No, of course not,” John looked genuinely confused by the question, “I just…kinda wish I knew what led me to where I am right now. So much of my life is a mystery, and don’t get me wrong, I love a good mystery, it’s just that I don’t really have any clues to help me solve this one.”

“I could help you with that, if you want,” Bruce replied without a second thought.

These words finally drew John’s gaze away from the window, now focused solely on him.

“Like we’ve talked about before, I’ve got a lot of money,” he continued, smiling, “I can hire the best private investigators. Or we could just make it our personal project. Devote our admittedly limited spare time to investigating it ourselves. I can probably get into Arkham and retrieve your file. Since you don’t seem to remember anything, that’s probably the best piece of information we have to go on.”

John stared at him, his mouth agape.

“What?” Bruce asked self-consciously.

“I’m just not used to this,” John replied.

“Used to what?”

“This!” John gestured at all of Bruce, “Someone actually wanting to help me find out who I was. Doctor Leland _tried_ to help, but after a while she started talking about how I should focus on ‘the now’ or _whatever_. Harley said it was stupid, and that I should probably be grateful that I didn’t remember my past, that it was probably pretty horrible for me to block it out so completely. But I dunno…even if it’s horrible I want to know, you know? It’s part of who I am, even if I’m not conscious of it.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bruce said contemplatively as John returned his watchful gaze to the apartment below.

Even if it was horrible he wanted to know, huh? That was pretty damn prescient.

If John had the courage to look into his past with no inkling of what he would find there then Bruce should probably have the balls to ask the guy a simple fucking question.

“John, I–”

“Oh, he’s home!”

A light flickered on in Schott’s apartment.

All right. It was finally time to put this creep where he belonged. Then, when he got home, Bruce would finally be able to rest easy for the first time in weeks.

The Toyman – Schott – tossed his keys into a tray by the door and started to remove his jacket. Perfect timing. However, right as they were about to swoop into action Bruce noticed movement through the window of another room in the apartment. He paused for a moment, assessing the danger, before giving voice to his observation.

“John, is that…a kid?”

Bruce posed his question too late, as John had already whizzed halfway to the apartment building by the time the words left his mouth.

Shit.

This called for a change of plans, but not one that could be easily enacted now that John was about to drop in through Schott’s window. He had little choice but to follow. However, he changed his trajectory, swooping down and entering the apartment through the window closest to where he had seen the child’s small form.

Once again, Bruce was too late, however. John’s surprise visit had sent Schott scrambling into the next room, leading to him bursting in through the door just as Batman crashed through the window. Bruce attempted to grapple the child towards him, but Schott snatched them out of the way at the last second; John rushed into the room moments later, but before anyone could take further action Schott whipped out a gun and pressed it firmly against the kid’s head.

Damn it. All this time, throughout every failed attempt to capture him, Schott had a child stashed away in his apartment. Selina had tried to comfort him with the idea that they were stopping the Toyman from hurting people by foiling his plans and cutting his exchanges short, but what comfort was that to this child? Fucking none at all.

“Let the child go, Schott,” Batman instructed calmly, despite how far Bruce was from that feeling at the moment.

“So, you finally figured out my identity,” Schott laughed mirthlessly, “Took you long enough.”

The man’s eyes were flickering around the room, trying to discern a way out of this. Bruce was doing the same thing and came to the conclusion that there weren’t many options. Either Schott took down both his assailants – an unlikely outcome – he used his hostage as leverage to gain safe passage out of here – which, given his capacity for further harm, was not on the table – or he was leaving in cuffs. There was always the possibility that he could turn the gun on himself and leave in a body bag, but he didn’t seem the type. Through all of their encounters, Schott always put a value on his life before all else, be it a deal, monetary gain, or his henchman. No, it was going to take some teamwork to do, but Bruce was confident that he and John would be able to disarm Schott, retrieve the child, and take him down.

God, they hadn’t planned for this, so Bruce really hoped John would follow his lead. He glanced at his partner who, this time, was looking back at him expectantly. Thank god.

Batman nudged his head towards Schott and, carefully positioning his hand out of the man’s view, made the “talking” gesture with his fingers. A grin took form on John’s increasingly relaxed face as he winked at Bruce before turning his attention to Schott.

“The only reason it takes anyone more than a few seconds to figure out who you are is because they’re distracted by how horrible your cover name is,” John quipped unsettlingly cheerily, “Be honest, does anyone _actually_ take you seriously with a name like that?”

“You’re that sick fuck who stabbed me!” Schott barked, pushing the gun closer to the child’s head as he shifted his focus to the Joker.

That wasn’t _quite_ what Bruce had hoped for, but it was a good start.

“Well, a lot of people have called me sick, but I’m not sure that it’s an insult coming from you,” John commented ponderously, “You’re just so _messed up_ it feels kind of like being called something bad on opposite day.”

“Opposite day?” the man blinked incredulously at the childlike Joker before him, the hand holding the gun slipping ever so slightly away from his hostage, “What sort of—ah!”

Schott yelped as Bruce took his fleeting chance to disarm him without the gun potentially going off and hitting the child. The Batarang clattered to the floor an instant before the gun did.

Step one accomplished.

Schott’s eyes narrowed as he clutched his living leverage closer to himself. Despite being disarmed, the painfully firm grip he sustained on the kid’s scalp made it almost impossible for them to run away, so there was little for Bruce to do but at least attempt to negotiate.

“You have nowhere to run,” Batman stated bluntly, “Hand over the child.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Schott sneered, “Word’s out, _Bat-man_! You can drop the scare tactics.”

“You’re right, I’m not going to kill you,” he replied evenly, “But I can make your life extremely painful if you don’t comply.”

Schott grimaced, his eyes shooting between Batman and the child calculatingly. After a few tense seconds he reluctantly pushed the kid towards Bruce.

Step two accomplished. Thank god.

He took his eyes off Schott for a moment to look down at the approaching child and in that split second of distraction he saw a glint of light in his periphery. Even without fully seeing it, Bruce knew the light was reflecting off of a gun that Schott must have kept concealed in his waistband. He didn’t even have time to look up, let alone act, before the silence was broken by a pained cry.

Thankfully, that exclamation came from Schott himself; John had remained vigilant during Bruce’s momentary distraction and thrown a Jokerang towards Schott’s reaching hand.

Unfortunately, the weapon had struck lower than intended, sinking into the inside of the man’s thigh; blood was blossoming from the wound at an alarming rate.

Fuck.

“You clown school reject piece of shit!” Schott growled, reaching for the Jokerang.

“Don’t!” Bruce cried out too late; Schott was already pulling the blade from his leg, sealing his fate.

If Bruce thought the man was bleeding at an alarming rate before, it was nothing compared to the virtual flood that now flowed from his femoral artery.

 _Fuck_.

“Alfred, call an ambulance,” he instructed before rushing forward to save the life of a man he never thought he’d help in any way.

Schott was already faint by the time Bruce hit the ground beside him. Bruce fully covered the wound with his hand and applied pressure, but he still felt the blood pumping out against his hand.

 **_Fuck_ ** **.**

“Schott,” Bruce said, trying to talk to him as if he could be kept alive through conversation alone, “Winslow, stay with me.”

Behind him he heard movement. John was saying something, his tone soft, not directed at Bruce, must’ve been talking to the kid. There was some faint shuffling, footsteps moving away from Batman and the man bleeding out on the floor. John seemed to be taking the kid away, shielding them from seeing this. Remarkably considerate of him. Although, considering the responsibility he held for the situation at hand, not really significant enough to counteract what he had done.

Winslow Schott was gone by the time John closed the door behind them.

It must have been an accident. Schott reached for his gun and John just reacted, trying to disarm him, but the shot landed too low. He did just get shot in the arm last night, after all. Still, Bruce berated himself for not prioritizing weapon practice during their training sessions. John had always been so damn effective with them that he didn’t really think it was necessary. Obviously he had been wrong.

How was he going to explain this to Gordon? The commissioner just gave them this lead, told them who the Toyman was and enabled them to find him, and then later that night he winds up dead. How did this happen? Bruce fucked everything up again. If he was a better teacher, a better hero, if he hadn’t let his guard down, if–

He stopped himself from going any further. Wallowing in self-abasement was pointless. He needed to deal with this.

“Al, are you there?”

“Yes, Bruce.”

He sighed and slowly rose to his feet, gazing down at Schott’s body.

“Can you connect me with Gordon, please?”

“Right away.”

There were thirty seconds of agonizing silence before the connective click.

“Batman,” Gordon’s familiar tone greeted Bruce, only twisting more knots into his stomach, “What happened? Did you track down that scumbag?’

He gritted his teeth. He had to face this. He couldn’t run away. Running away would make him look guilty.

“There was an accident,” he answered grimly, “Schott’s dead. He was holding a child at gunpoint and his femoral artery was cut during our attempts to retrieve the hostage. I did my best to stop the bleeding…but there was nothing I could do.”

There was what Bruce could only assume was stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Batman was always so careful not to kill anyone. He didn’t have “accidents” like this. But Batman didn’t work alone anymore, and not everyone could be as meticulously careful as he was.

“Shit,” Gordon eventually muttered, letting out a long exhale, “I can’t cover this up, Batman.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” he replied quickly, urgent to make that point explicitly clear, “I just thought you should hear it from me rather than the officer who gets assigned the crime scene.”

Crime scene, huh? Bruce didn’t like the sound of that – liked it even less coming out of his own mouth – but that was what this was not, wasn’t it? The scene of a crime that he had a hand in perpetrating. What the fuck was he going to do?

“I appreciate that,” Gordon said surprisingly sincerely.

There was a long pause.

“Were you the one who killed him?” the commissioner asked cautiously.

“Who struck the killing blow is unimportant,” Batman replied, “I’m taking responsibility.”

“So, that’s a no then,” Gordon sighed, “It was him, wasn’t it? The Joker?”

Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond. John was on the thinnest of ice right now, a fact not helped by how rude he was to Gordon earlier. A mistake like this didn’t make him look any less unreliable and unstable.

“It was me, Jim,” he answered, “I made a mistake and now a man is dead. There is no one to blame but myself.”

His face twisted in disgust behind the mask – disgust at himself more than anything else. After all the time he’d put into building a strong relationship with Gordon, long years of tireless work that had solidified the commissioner as a trusted ally and friend, he couldn’t believe that he was not outright lying to the man.

“Okay, okay,” Gordon said with another sigh, “I need to think about how we’re going to handle this on my end, but if you swear it was a mistake and not just you letting this creep get to you then…it won’t change my opinion of you, Batman.”

Bruce swallowed hard, his hand repeatedly clenching and unclenching by his side.

“I appreciate that, Jim,” he murmured, before clearing his throat and adding, “An ambulance is already on its way, so you should expect a call from them soon.”

He hung up without waiting for a response.

After everything he’d built – all the trust, the relationships, the image of Batman as a pillar of virtue and justice who never kills – Bruce had burnt it all down to save the minute sliver of reputation that John clung onto. When Gordon accused John there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that if he told the truth, if he explained exactly what happened, John would be sent directly to Arkham. It simply wasn’t right. Bruce couldn’t stand by and let that happen merely because John was defending him, especially since it was his fault John had to step in in the first place. He doubtlessly just saved both Bruce and that child’s lives. How could he let them commit John for that?

It hurt to admit it, but Schott’s life was less important than that of the innocent child he held captive. Bruce didn’t condone killing, and Batman _certainly_ couldn’t, but at least to himself – quietly, in his own mind – he could concede that even if John’s attack had been intended to kill Schott it would have been worth saving the kid.

Still, Bruce couldn’t help but feel sick looking down at Schott’s increasingly ashen, lifeless body slumped in a pool of his own blood.

He couldn’t let this happen again.

John was talking to the paramedics when Bruce got outside. The kid was sitting in the back of the ambulance with a dead eyed expression, their legs hanging over the side. Usually Batman would have gone over to comfort the child, told them everything was going to be all right, they were safe now, but Bruce didn’t feel up for it. Even if he had, would it really have the same impact when he was covered in someone else’s blood?

The drive home felt longer than it should have. Likely due to the complete silence that fell over the two men after they got in the car.

Bruce slowed the vehicle when they got close to home, parking it just outside the entrance to the cave. He thought he should probably have a talk with John before they went in there to face Alfred.

He turned off his mic as he removed his cowl, ensuring their conversation would actually remain private. But Bruce couldn’t help but fixate on the blood on his hands as he did so; blood that was now smeared across his cowl. He grimaced.

Bruce could rationalize this. It wasn’t intentional. John wouldn’t do that, not after their talks.

“Accidents happen, it wasn’t your fault,” Bruce broke the silence as calmly as possible, but John cut him off before he could continue.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _that_.”

Bruce couldn’t help blinking in bewilderment as he was all but consumed by shock.

“Pardon?” he asked, suddenly feeling quite winded.

“Was it an accident or was it intentionally hitting his artery so he’d bleed out? Who’s to say, really, it’s a toss up—I am, I’m to say, it-it was the second one.”

John’s fingers were fiddling as quickly as an expert violinist’s; a telltale sign that would have rendered his signature nervous laughter pointless if John had given into it, but he remained utterly silent. They were well past laughter now.

“So, this wasn’t an accident?” Bruce inquired, his hand clenched into a fist by his side.

“ _Nooo_ , not exactly,” John replied hesitantly, his words elongating exaggeratedly.

Bruce couldn’t believe this.

They had talked about Batman’s code and how John would have to abide by that code if he wanted to work with his hero. What could have possibly possessed him to _kill_ someone when he knew what was at stake?

“I don’t see what the big deal is, buddy,” John said earnestly, “He wasn’t important, such a complete waste of oxygen–”

“Damn it, John!” Bruce shouted, slamming his cowl against the dashboard, “You’re making it very hard to defend you right now!”

John recoiled slightly but didn’t back down.

“You’re just mad ‘cause of your stupid code–”

“Not stupid, John,” Bruce interjected, “important.”

John growled, his fists tightening angrily.

“Who’s to say he wasn’t going to escape again and hurt more people?” he asked heatedly, “He deserved what he got!”

“Should I have killed you then?”

The question stopped John in his tracks, his eyes wide.

“What do you–”

“Was I wrong to spare you?” Bruce asked, filled with unexpected wrath at John’s unceasing impudence, “I believe that everyone has the ability to redeem themselves, that everyone deserves that chance. Everybody – and I mean _everybody_ – told me that there was no hope for saving you, that you were going to hurt more people, that even if I succeeded in pulling you out of the mess you got yourself into that you were just going to do it again, yet I gave you a chance. Was I wrong, John? Should I have done to you what you did to Schott?”

Bruce expected John to curl in on himself and go silent as he often did when people shouted at him, but John defied his expectations once again.

Bruce’s words had clearly hurt him but he looked more confused than anything. Although his voice trembled when he spoke, John seemed resolute in his convictions.

“You saw what that guy did, Bruce. That was on a whole other level. They were just kids, even I…it just wasn’t right. He kept slipping through our fingers, kept hurting more people, and we couldn’t do a thing! Even if we had, sending him to jail wouldn’t have done anything. I know what the system is like, Harley told me. He’d be out before we knew it and once he was he’d have started hurting kids all over again. And we would have been responsible–”

“No, we wouldn’t, that’s not how this works, John–”

“–It might not be how you think it works, but it is how I see it,” he turned away from Bruce and gazed down at his knees, “I didn’t want to be responsible for any more pain. I ended one life to make sure that countless more weren’t destroyed. Can’t you see the good in that?”

Bruce merely watched John, unsure of what to say, as tears welled up in the man’s eyes and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. This wasn’t the same John he found surrounded by bodies, laughing nervously as he recounted the slaughter without a glimpse of remorse. That John had been worried about how Bruce would react, not concerned with the morality of his actions. This was different. John’s intentions were pure. Bruce could see that, at least.

“Yes,” he replied softly, “but even so we cannot act as judge, jury, and executioner. We are not infallible. Neither is the justice system, but we have to believe that there are good people working within the system who are doing their best to make sure that, even if they are released, people like that man cannot hurt anyone ever again. We _cannot_ kill people, John.”

John didn’t respond or even look at Bruce. He just continued staring blankly at his knees, breathing shakily as he kept his tears from overflowing. Bruce needed John to give him something, anything, to show that he understood.

“Please,” Bruce pleaded gently, “I want you by my side out there, but I can’t do that if you execute anyone who you deem unworthy.”

John’s head shot up, his watery eyes wide in disbelief.

“Y-you mean,” John swallowed hard before continuing, “you’re not…kicking me off the team?”

He should, shouldn’t he? John had already blown so many chances, far more than Bruce would’ve given anyone else. God, why couldn’t he just deny the man _something_?

“No, John, not yet anyways—ack!”

Bruce was quite suddenly cut off by John’s shoulder pushing into his throat as the man flung himself onto Bruce in the most uncomfortable hug he had ever experienced.

“Thank you, so, so, so, so much!”

Bruce awkwardly reached around John with one arm and patted him tentatively on the back.

“All right, well, you’re not totally off the hook, you know.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” John murmured, his face resting against Bruce’s shoulder, “I was just so worried you were gonna…gonna…”

John could barely choke out his words now and his breath was becoming more ragged.

Fucking hell.

Bruce didn’t know how to deal with any of this.

He was brought up by a butler, from _England_ no less, and after the night that his childhood was ripped away from him Bruce had never had close enough relationships with anyone to see them so openly vulnerable as this. People didn’t cry around Bruce Wayne unless he had just fired them; and they definitely didn’t fall into his arms, sniffling pitifully. Hey

What was he supposed to do? He had already patted John on the back. Was he supposed to say “there, there” or something?

Batman didn’t have to deal with any of this! If victims were upset he’d just put on his calming voice and say something comforting. He couldn’t really do that in good conscience in this situation. John needed to face some consequences for his actions.

But maybe they could wait until tomorrow.

“It’s all right, buddy,” Bruce sighed, “I hope you understand why I can’t just let you go around killing people, even if their crimes are so horrendous they can barely be considered human beings.”

John let out a choked laugh and Bruce could swear he heard a muffled, “Right?” rise up from the crook of his neck.

“If we kill those people it makes us no better than the criminals we put away. We may be vigilantes but once we’ve incapacitated our foes we need to let everything go through the proper channels. That’s why my relationship with Gordon is so important and you can’t just go around calling him useless. So, even if you had valid reasons for killing Schott, I can’t let it go, even once. But we can talk about how we’re going to deal with this later, okay?”

Finally, John nodded and relinquished his grip on Bruce, pulling away slowly until he was fully back in his own seat. He still looked a bit shaken and didn’t quite meet Bruce’s gaze.

Seeing John like that unsettled him. Bruce often forgot that John could be so childlike; always in need of guidance, comfort, and companionship.

When Bruce met John in Arkham he seemed stronger, more confident. It was clear now that was because John was in his element. At the time, Arkham was the only world John knew and he knew it well. He could work every angle, knew how to get under everyone’s skin, and found a way to make the system work for him.

Out here, in the real world, everything was different. It was unfamiliar and confusing territory and John needed someone there to help him through it. He had looked for that in Harley, but she had been so closed off that she wasn’t able to offer him what he needed. Could Bruce say any differently, though?

Bruce sighed, catching John’s attention if only out of the corner of the man’s eye.

Okay. He could do this.

“You don’t need to worry so much about me abandoning you, you know,” Bruce whispered, smiling softly at his friend, “If you don’t abide by Batman’s code I might have to put you on desk duty, as it were, but I’m not going to send you back to Arkham just because you make a mistake or we have an disagreement…and I’m not going anywhere. We’re friends first, John. What we do out here isn’t going to change that.”

John smiled back weakly, a glimmer in his eye as he asked, “Best friends?”

Bruce couldn’t suppress his laughter as he affirmed, “Best friends.”

As expected, Alfred was waiting for them when they arrived. His eyes widened with shock at the blood caked all over Batman’s suit, but Bruce brushed off his concerns even though he knew he shouldn’t. He was just too tired.

Al gathered up the pieces of the suit without probing further, scowling at John only briefly before leaving to wash off the blood. After tonight, however, no amount of scrubbing could wipe Batman’s slate clean. Bruce was going to have to live with that fact. He wasn’t sure he wanted Al to have to live with it too. Given the look he shot John merely because Bruce lied to Gordon about what happened, Bruce was fairly certain he should keep the details of John’s true intentions to himself. For now, at least.

Despite his mental and physical exhaustion, Bruce resolved to tell Selina the Alfred-friendly version of what happened. He climbed the stairs with John and bid the man goodnight before veering off towards Selina’s room. John paused for a moment before entering his room, his eyes lingering on Bruce as he knocked on Selina’s door. Bruce smiled at him and he returned the gesture rather uneasily before disappearing into his bedroom.

“Come in,” Selina beckoned through the door.

When Bruce followed her instruction he was shocked to find her room even more bare than usual. The dresser drawers were open and empty, the items that previously inhabited them now packed into a suitcase and backpack sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Figured you’d come by,” Selina said, placing what looked like the last of her clothes, neatly folded, into her bag, “Alfred filled me in one what happened, so you can spare me the details.”

“That works just fine for me,” Bruce responded, leaning back against the wall by the door, “I don’t really want to get into it anyways. Gives me more time to get into what the hell is going on right now.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Yes, what you’re doing is obvious, I simply don’t understand why.”

She cocked her head to the side curiously.

“You know me, Bruce,” Selina replied, shooting him a slight grin over her shoulder before turning back to her bags, “I didn’t think it would come as much of surprise, given everything I’ve done up to this point. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for your help getting me out of chains and all, but, honestly, I don’t really enjoy playing second fiddle, especially considering who it’s to.”

Bruce scowled at the back of her head as she zipped up her suitcase.

“Besides,” she continued, finally turning to face Bruce, “You have a lot to deal with right now, what with your new protégés and all. It just feels like I’d be in the way.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, it seems pretty apparent that it’s the other way around,” Bruce admitted wearily, “Every time I try to guide them all I seem to do is fuck it up. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

It felt strange admitting that to someone, especially considering that someone was Selina. Until recently, he only ever spoke this openly with Alfred. He couldn’t pinpoint when he had let her get so close, but it had clearly happened. What’s worse, he’d felt so closed off from Al as of late it seemed like they barely spoke at all. It was more than a little troubling.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?” Bruce asked, already fairly certain he knew the answer.

“Don’t blame yourself, Bruce,” she replied, “You really have made me feel comfortable here. If I were anyone else I’m sure I’d never want to leave, but staying in one place like this for too long just isn’t in my DNA.”

Yep, there it was; the answer he had expected…closely followed by an explanation he hadn’t:

“I promised myself I would stay until we caught the Toyman and funnily enough you managed to take care of the guy yourself…one way or another.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

Like hell he couldn’t.

“What are you planning on doing about that anyways?” Selina asked, her eyebrows rising inquisitively.

“No earthly clue,” Bruce replied, heaving a distraught sigh, “Want to offer me some parting advice?”

She chuckled, shaking her head at him.

“So _now_ you want my advice?”

“I’ve always valued your advice, Selina,” he said earnestly, “Even if I didn’t always properly show my appreciation at the time.”

The smile Selina gave now was warm, friendly in a very un-Selina way.

“It might sound weird after the conversation we had last night,” she stipulated, “but my advice? Don’t go too hard on him. One, I don’t think he can take it. And two, he was trying to save someone’s life, wasn’t he? A random child’s life, at that. Even if the Toyman had managed to get a shot or two off it probably would’ve have killed you. John, of all people, knows the specifications of your suit. He won’t stop pestering Tiffany about it.”

Selina rolled her eyes.

“So, he would be aware that you’re relatively bulletproof,” she continued, “I figured he was trying to save that kid’s life and his throw missed the mark. Accidents happen and there are certainly worse people that could’ve happened to. You can’t really punish him too harshly for trying to do the right thing and fucking it up a little, can you?”

“No, I suppose I shouldn’t,” Bruce replied, his eyes firmly fixed to the ground.

Even if her details were a little off, Selina wasn’t wrong about the gist of the situation. John was trying to do the right thing, even if his way of doing it wasn’t congruent with Bruce’s code. It couldn’t happen again, but just this once…Bruce should probably let him off with probation. He would certainly hate being back on the bench again, but Bruce doubted he’d protest too much; not with the plethora of far less pleasant alternatives.

“Anyways, I’m off,” Selina announced, clapping a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as she started past him through the doorway, “Don’t you worry, I’ll be sure to drop by again in the future. In the meantime, take care of yourself and your _friend_ –” accenting the word with a wink that only confounded him “–and take better care of Alfred. He needs you, Bruce, just as much as John does, although in a different way. You can’t just leave him by the wayside while you focus on your pet project.”

“Weren’t you just leaving?” Bruce questioned sarcastically.

“I thought you wanted my advice,” she replied in a mock-offended tone.

“I asked for advice, not a lecture."

Selina laughed, shaking her head as she exited the room. She got halfway down the hall before Bruce thought to call out to her.

“Selina.”

She turned back around to face him, still smiling.

His heart skipped a beat; nostalgic pangs for what could have been. Missed opportunities – messed up opportunities, more like – leading to their initial parting. Selina was always going to leave sooner or later, he had just hoped for the latter this time around.

Bruce could’ve been better, needed to be better, had to make things work with Al, with Tiffany, with John. He couldn’t just keep leaving them in the dark and hope for the best. Just look where it had gotten him so far. Selina helped him see that.

Despite her less than perfect ideals and the walls she kept around herself that stood even taller than Bruce’s, Selina was a positive influence; a realistic voice that always told him when he was being a dumbass. Intoxicating yet sobering, she helped him see the forest for the trees throughout the brief time she was here.

He wanted to tell her all of this, to tell her how grateful he was for everything, but he was who he was and so was she; neither of them appreciated such open displays of vulnerability. So, for now at least, he supposed he’d just have to settle for something simple.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First order of business: I made myself a twitter account for my fics, so you can follow my lousy ass at [HypeSiren](https://twitter.com/HypeSiren) for updates on my stories. That way I don’t leave you guys in the dark when I can’t post on time.
> 
> You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was to figure out the Bruce pinning John down sequence. I ran through different scenarios with my partner, having him pull me down to the floor in various ways until we figured out what made the most sense. Phrasing it was also, well, not easy? A weird amount of effort went into that one paragraph…
> 
> This chapter actually got a bit darker than I meant for it to…I have a hard time writing purely happy fluff, I suppose. You have my word that the story won’t have some downer ending where any important named character dies or anything. Spoiler alert: John and Bruce love each other and that is the real focus of this story (much to my partner’s dismay, who wants John to go “full Joker,” turn evil, and then they have to kill each other, so 1. be happy he’s not writing this and 2. please save me, I die a little more inside each time he suggests it).
> 
> Also, smash that like button if you think John is a rambling mess! ;)
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. So, I like Selina, sue me.


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